


defy you stars

by zombiekittiez



Series: Postscript [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Another Episode, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Dealing With Trauma, Explicit in later chapters, Getting Together, Gore, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, On The Ship, Post DR3, Slow Burn, Tech talk, Virtual Death, but like intellectually, gratuitous use of Shakespeare, plot heavy, psychodive, redemption arc, sailing to Towa City, slight AU, there's sparknotes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-01-11 21:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiekittiez/pseuds/zombiekittiez
Summary: Hajime blinks twice. He turns his head slowly, surveying the room. Togami has a pair of night vision goggles in his hand and he frowns down at them.“Defective. As expected of anything not manufactured by the Togami Group.” He says, disgusted.Owari’s nose twitches. “I smell blood.”Hajime lifts the tablecloth.Komaeda’s body lays beneath the table, face down, in a pool of blood. His face, even in death, is twisted into a despairing grin.“I guess you got what you wanted,” Hajime murmurs under the screaming, reaching out to gently close the eyelids over that pale fanatical gaze.~~Hajime is almost expecting it, the first time Komaeda dies. The next one is a little harder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I get into a fandom an average of 2-6 years after peak.
> 
> There are actual sparknotes for the Shakespeare at the bottom, if you want 'em.

~~

“O brave new world that has such people in it,” Hajime murmurs, looking over the crowded ship dispassionately. 

“Admired Miranda, so perfect and so peerless.” The voice is amused. Hajime does not flinch. Though the sounds of the surf and the business of ship maintenance covered the sounds of footsteps approaching from behind, Hajime had supposed the odds of someone joining him to be at about 70% regardless. Of that, he could calculate who it was most likely to be within about a 2% margin of error. 

“You’ve always struck me as more of a Cordelia,” Komaeda says conversationally, coming up to lean bonelessly against the railing, his prosthetic clacking against the grip. “Honest. Virtuous.” 

“Tortured,” Hajime says without meaning to. 

“Ah!” Komaeda’s eyes brighten. “It’s that sort of mood, then?” Hajime’s jaw tightens. “This _is_ usually where you come when you’re like that. I think looking down at everyone working like this makes it seem more orderly. If it’s meant to be orderly, it isn’t boring so much as functional, don’t you think?” 

“You’re not working.” An observation.

“I’m not orderly.” Komaeda settles into place, draping over the railing now in a way that cannot be good for his back. 

“No,” Hajime agrees, “you are not.” 

Komaeda closes his eyes and smiles, looking all for the world like an overgrown cat, basking in contentedness. It had not been a compliment, both of them knew that. Still, that meant little when determining the kinds of things that pleased Komaeda. 

Sick, O sick. 

Hajime isn’t aware that he’d spoken it aloud until Komaeda laughs merrily. 

“What a comparison! I thought for a moment that you might say Ophelia… on account of the madness.” Komaeda adjusts his slump minutely, enough to look up at Hajime fondly, chin resting on his prosthetic, other arm up resting against the side of his head.

“Yet there is method in it,” Hajime says, heavy with irony. “What do you want, Komaeda?” 

“Oh, you know.” It’s at once a dismissal and sly dig; Hajime does know. He knows most things. He ignores it so Komaeda turns his eyes skyward, his posture, if possible, somehow becoming worse. 

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow…” he says, voice exaggeratedly mournful and Hajime feels the slightest twinge of irritation. With their luck at a steady, even stalemate, Hajime is starting to suspect that Komaeda’s real talent is the ability to keenly vivisect a situation down to the bone and, with a scant dozen words or less, weaponize it. It isn’t as though Hajime wants to find his companions, his situation, his very _life_ so ponderous and tiresome. 

“Do you ever wonder if you did the right thing, waking us up?” Komaeda nuzzles a little into his arm with what Hajime notes is a shiver. The wind is picking up. “It might have been less boring.” 

Hajime could explain the concept of overdetermination systems and constraint counting but that would be pedantic, and, worse, rather like sinking to Komaeda’s level. 

“I wish you minded less,” he says instead. 

Komaeda shrugs. “He that dies pays all debts.” Back to Tempest, then. Hajime mulls over the paradox of quoting a work on repentance to justify such an absolute. But then, this _is_ Komaeda. 

“Death is sometimes easier.” Hajime agrees reluctantly.

“I think you’d find death very boring, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda assures him. 

“Hey.” 

Souda shifts his weight from one foot to the other in his periphery. Hajime doesn’t startle- it’s nearly impossible to make him startle anymore, but he is surprised nonetheless. He hadn’t even realized how intent he had been on their conversation until his attention was diverted elsewhere. 

“What are you guys talkin’ about?” He asks warily. 

“British Literature,” Komaeda says brightly, straightening back up and tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. 

“...right.” Souda seems unconvinced. “Well. There’s something I wish you’d take a look at, man. I could use a second opinion. Unless you’re busy.” His eyes flicker between the two of them and Hajime recognizes that Souda is trying to be considerate. 

“Oh no, don’t let someone like me waste any more of your precious time, Hinata-kun!” Komaeda chirps and Hajime grimaces, as what might be a polite exit from a conversation from anyone else here rings as gratingly sincere. 

“Thanks,” Souda says to Komaeda, and even though it’s gruff, this too seems earnest. Should it be strange the two are getting along so well? The analytical part of Hajime’s mind concedes that it was a likely scenario after all, with Komaeda’s lingering positive impressions after waking from the simulation. Really, he ought to be bonding with everyone _besides_ Hajime. 

“There’s some kind of anomaly in the Chibi-P,” Souda explains as they make their way down into the workshop below deck. “I’ve run a few diagnostics, but I think it might be an issue with the core function itself- not the hardware. But that’s not really my area of expertise or whatever.” 

“We were always going to have to run trials,” Hajime says calmly, walking into the lab that houses the Neo World Program - or what used to be that, anyway. The pods have been retrofitted, cushioned and positioned for smaller bodies. Less invasive. More stopgaps. Manual and Automated ejection settings. 

Towa City, under the guidance of Naegi’s sister, had reached a precarious sort of stalemate, one that could be broken by the slightest provocation. He’d seen the reports. Adults, children. Survivors, perpetrators. The Monokids, trapped, brainwashed, violent and alone, were little harbingers of despair themselves. Left alone, they would suffer and wilt and die. Or worse. 

So the problem was put forth and the modifications began on the Psychotherapeutic Communication Simulator to handle younger and significantly more delicate subjects. The Chibi-P was complete, if not fully operational. It would be some small hope to offer, anyway. So they had stocked up with supplies compliments of Future Foundation and would be taking a little detour to undo some of the damage that had been wrought. The Ultimate Despairs would finally come to Towa City en-mass… just what Monaca had always wanted. 

The screens in the center of the loop show sparkling water, pale sand, a familiar sort of beach. He frowns. 

“It’s a clean copy,” Souda assures him. 

“I suppose the neural oscillation of the Monokid programming would be incompatible with an adult brain,” Hajime allows. 

“Yep!” Souda agrees cheerfully. “Probably. But whatever the anomaly is, it’s coming up regardless of the program source.” 

Hajime looks up, genuine interest sparking. “The core function settings appear optimized.” 

“There’s no way to know without testing one on one.” Souda says confidently. 

“Multi-tool,” Hajime requests, holding out a hand, palm up. Souda hands it over automatically. 

“So I was thinking we could talk to the others and come up with some kind of game plan to extend clinical trials after the mods. It should take about a week to retrofit a pod for one of us, and we might need a secondary power supply, but- what in the _fuck_ are you doing?” Souda’s voice goes up an octave. Hajime, already seated in a firm desk chair pulled from across the room, slides the first needle into his arm without flinching. The needle attaches back to the nearest open pod where he had finessed the open panel into a makeshift adult sized dive station in a matter of seconds. 

“Whoa. Whoa whoa whoa.” Souda’s eyes go round with panic. He puts out his hands and Hajime takes the opportunity to give the multi-tool back to him. Souda’s fingers latch onto it automatically. “We have to re-calibrate the settings-” Hajime taps the screen closest to him. It pings green. “Okay, so that’s done, but we need medical supervision-” Hajime slides the long thin needle out of its slot. Along one end trails rainbow colored wires. After a cursory glance, Hajime reaches behind himself, sliding the needle into the back of his neck, perfectly aligned with his brainstem. 

“JE-sus is that even _sterile_ -?!” Souda grabs his own face with both hands, looking decidedly green. 

“I’ll need you to initiate the sequence. I can’t get up without risking rupture,” Hajime instructs. 

“No. Okay? No. Hinata, you’ve got like seventy talents or whatever. If you get screwed up, we’re never going to be able to fix this- or you. You get that?” Hajime swallows an impatient noise. Sometimes needing to explain things is the most tedious part of all, when it comes to interacting with other people. But Souda has a particularly stubborn expression, pulling his hat down low over his eyes, so this is clearly necessary. 

“I know how to look for anomaly manifestation and how that translates into the system settings. No one else is going to be able to diagnose with the same level of accuracy.” Souda opens his mouth to protest. “The kids need this.” Hajime presses. “We owe them this much. They deserve to have hope for a future they decide themselves.” 

Souda visibly wilts. “Man, oh man.” He mutters, moving over to the controls. “You must be crazy. I must be crazy, letting you be all crazy.” He stops suddenly, finger hovering over the psychodive initiation button. 

“If anything goes wrong, I’m telling Komaeda you said you’re gonna do it for hope,” he threatens. Hajime, with his free hand, flips him the bird. 

Souda hits the button.

~~  
INITIATING DANGANI.EXE  
….  
COMPLETE  
…..  
STANDBY  
..…  
…..

“Hey… can you hear me?” 

~~

Hajime falls into step, letting Game-Komaeda take him around the island and introduce him around. 

Again. 

It’s a strange sensation, to know that none of this is real. Komaeda isn’t Komaeda- he’s a copy, a download. None of this is real. When the avatar actions start to deviate, that’s when the anomaly will be detected. Not before. Just another loop until then. How boring. 

“You haven’t properly introduced yourself to her either, right?” 

What an odd sort of longing feeling, looking at where she stands over the arcade cabinet. Without realizing it, Hajime’s hand raises on its own to rest over his heart. He had underestimated the shock of seeing her again, going in. She doesn’t look up from her game, eyes focused on the screen. 

“Oh?” Komaeda glances back and forth between them. “Can it be… love at first sight? Maybe you’re the Ultimate Romantic, Hinata-kun!” 

“Oh, right, introductions. Got it.” She turns her soft pink gaze his way. 

“Nanami,” he says, forgetting himself. 

“Hm? Do you know each other or something?” Komaeda asks. 

“I…” Nanami falls silent. Hajime can’t help it. He reaches out to take her hand. 

“We were friends. Really good friends. And I hope that you and me, we can be good friends again.” He stumbles over his words, detachment sloughing away. Her eyes are too flat and too wide and she hesitates far too long. It is meant to approximate uncertainty and shyness, but it’s a marker of her AI. This Nanami does not know Hajime yet. She is gathering data to more positively predict the outcomes of future interactions. He releases her hands. 

Introductions. Hope Fragments. Love Love. Beach party. 

This time, instead of splashing in the water, Komaeda drops on the sand next to Hajime. 

“You’re a little more intense than I thought at first,” he says. 

“You’re one to talk about misleading first impressions,” Hajime remarks unfairly. Komaeda tilts his head to the side. 

“I wonder what that’s supposed to mean,” he says lightly, the way he does when something is a little raw. It is such a deeply Komaeda expression, one he’s never really seen on him this young, that Hajime can’t even think to respond. 

This isn’t Komaeda. This Komaeda isn’t real. 

Nanami is watching them, from under a tree. She ought to be sleeping. Something he’s done has flagged. She’s real, isn’t she? She’s not _the_ Nanami anymore but she is _a_ Nanami, and precious for all that. So even if they’re just copies, isn’t this Komaeda just as real? 

Hajime opens his mouth to say- 

The sky goes dark. 

~~  
EJECT PARAMETERS SUCCESSFUL  
…...  
…...  
STANDBY FOR REINTEGRATION SEQUENCE  
…..

~~

Hajime sits up smoothly. He disconnects the needles without wincing, pressing clean white gauze to stop the blood flow while Souda quietly melts down at the control panel. 

“What’s happening?” Hajime asks firmly when he can move again. He’s taped up his left wrist and his right hand keeps pressure on the back of his neck. 

“Nothing. Totally nothing. It’s like- I don’t know man, like this is an actual game. All the avatars just stopped interacting.” 

“Even Monokuma?”

“Even Monokuma.” Souda runs a hand over his face to wipe the sweat away. If there are a few tears mixed in, Hajime pretends not to notice. “I don’t think from the readings that it’s alive or anything. It’s just saying the same junk as last time.” 

“So it isn’t Enoshima.” Hajime scans the monitor over Souda’s shoulder. “These readings are anomalous.” 

“Kinda,” Souda waffles, making a face. “You were under a couple of hours. The simulation we tested on the AIs ran for a week. It was…. rough. Really rough. I mean these blips are so small that any ordinary person running the trial probably wouldn’t even recognize them.” 

“I need to go back in,” Hajime says immediately. Souda groans. 

“See I knew- totally knew!- you were gonna say something dumb like that.” 

“The failsafe worked. I ejected without any issues.” 

“You know that I can see what you see, right? I have to for this kind of thing.” Hajime looks at the floor. “You think it’s good for you, going back in there? Seeing her, and living the whole thing over again? You aren’t even gonna be able to change anything, the way this game is set up.” 

“It isn’t anything I haven’t seen before,” Hajime explains patiently. 

“You think that makes it easier?!” Souda begins pacing the room, overcome by frustration. “You think I wanna watch her die again?” 

Guilt coils, cold and heavy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think-” 

“For a smart guy you’re really dumb sometimes.” Souda stops, taking a deep breath. “It’s not like I don’t get that we gotta do this, okay? I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. But I’m the Lead Tech, you got me?” Souda leans into Hajime’s space, counting off on his fingers. “No solo dives, you got constant supervision. Maximum dive time of five hours a session. I’m modding your mods, I want so many ways to get you out of the sim that I forget a couple without checking the manual. If you so much as sneeze weird while you’re under, I’m pulling you out immediately.” 

“Okay.” Hajime holds up his hands placatingly. “Okay. You’re right, those are all good rules.” 

“I love you, man.” Souda says, voice suddenly very serious. “You know? I really do. But sometimes I totally get why Komaeda pushes your buttons like that. Sometimes it seems like pissing you off or freaking you out is the only way you’re gonna listen and get out of your own head.” 

Hajime stares at him dumbly. 

“You’re bleeding all over your shirt,” Souda says. “Go patch up, I got some work to do.” He turns back to the machine. 

~~

Hajime kills some time after he cleans himself up, wandering into the kitchen to grab a snack and check over the stores with Hanamura who is already starting prep for the hoardes of refugees they are expecting to need to feed. Owari, unwilling to be parted from food for any significant period of time, and Nidai, expert in line control, would be in charge of setting up the temporary soup kitchens at the dock. 

“Kids like hamburger steak, right? With cheese, maybe? What was your favorite food as a kid?” Hanamura asks, pursing his lips as he looks over the menu planning notes. 

“Kusamochi,” Hajime answers around a mouthful of bagel. Hanamura gives him a slightly disgusted look.

“As a _kid_?” 

Hajime shrugs. Hanamura slides a glass of orange juice his way and Hajime gulps it down. 

Owari and Nidai are busy with task management as Nidai demonstrates how best to distribute large quantities of bottled water quickly and without crushing any. While it is perhaps a little more acrobatic than strictly necessary, Hajime has no complaints and leaves them to it. 

Tanaka and Sonia in Workshop B are working on design for the scrap metal cages and barriers needed for the animal control issue in Towa City. The stray population in the aftermath of the disaster has become nearly insufferable, with half-wild animals roaming the streets. Several children had reported severe bites, and a particularly vicious starving dog managed to kill an elderly man. The animals needed rehabilitation, they had argued. And Sonia had a rather clever addendum on reincorporating some of the tamer rescues into rehabilitation therapy for the children and adults deemed stable enough to benefit. 

Saionji, Mioda and Koizumi are having a round robin session to brainstorm activities for the art therapy programs. Pekoyama and Kuzuryu are setting up a systematic supply retrieval plan to approach the heavily guarded warehouses of Towa Group. Tsumiki would, of course, be in charge of medical services and be holding First Aid courses with Imposter’s assistance. Hajime doesn’t know what Komaeda plans to do in Towa City. Komaeda had just laughingly demurred when asked to join a particular area, claiming that his inherent worthlessness would doubtless ruin all their shining talents, obviously. It’s suspicious, of course, but not atypical. For now, Hajime leaves him be. Deeming that enough time has passed, he heads below deck and steps into the room just as Souda is cleaning up. 

Souda looks him up and down, taking in the loose lounge pants and undershirt. A psychodive mimics the same stages as REM sleep cycles; in this way, unless Souda wants to contribute to Hajime’s already terrible insomnia, he will have to allow him to stay under the full night’s stay, 7-8 hours. Souda scowls at him. 

“Get in the damn chair,” he grumbles. 

~~  
DANGANI.EXE  
….  
LOADING PREVIOUS SAVE  
….  
COMPLETE  
…..  
STANDBY  
..…  
…..

“That’s what this _killing school trip_ is all about!”

~~

Stalling the game objectives will only make error identification more tedious later. Hajime resolves to play along with as much grace as he can muster. Shock and awe. Kuzuryu’s secession, Pekoyama watching him go low under her long lashes. Togami’s leadership. The party announcement. He practices the breathing exercises they taught him in the labs to help slow his autonomous nervous system. He blinks drolly through the events, wondering how long it has been in the real world by now, when Komaeda holds the chopsticks for the drawing under his nose. 

“You’re up, Hinata-kun!” He chirps. 

All he has to do is volunteer to do the cleaning. All he has to do is talk to Komaeda later, one on one. Convince him not to kick off the killing game. 

Except this isn’t Komaeda, not really, and even if it was, Hajime for all his talents is still not sure how to convince Komaeda to do anything that he hasn’t already decided to do separately on his own. Or at least, _not_ to do something. 

Hajime draws a chopstick. 

“How lucky,” he says to Komaeda, who holds the red mark for cleaning duty. He must not lean into the sarcasm quite right because Komaeda keeps giving him a little furtive glances as he gracefully accepts. 

“Gosh that’s nice,” Koizumi murmurs to Tsumiki. “When I made sure, he said we don’t have to help, he didn’t want any of us girls stuck cleaning on such a nice day.” 

Hajime rolls his eyes. 

“Do you have a problem with Komaeda?” Nanami asks, curling in her chair under her cat hoodie. Hajime remembers being attracted to her, sees how cute she looks in her oversized clothes. But that was before Kamakura and remembering and now it feels like he’s been alive twice as long as he should have been, even. Nanami is a pretty girl, a pretty child, and she will stay like this forever. He doesn’t know if he envies or pities her. The thought of her in a swimsuit still makes him nervous, but more because he feels like a dirty old man than out of a racing pulse. 

“No more than usual,” Hajime answers belatedly, and he helps Hanamura with the clean up. It’s the least he can do, all things considered. 

The pat down. The party. The security patrol. Nidai’s screaming. Owari and Togami cramming food into their faces. Hajime eats a grape and a square of cheddar cheese, just to have something to do. 

“Are you having a good time, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda asks, moving into position to get to the knife under the table. So subtle. So casual. 

So boring. 

“Not as much as you are,” Hajime says dryly. 

Beep. Beep. 

Darkness. 

Lights. 

Tsumiki, spread eagle and covered in food. 

Hajime just looks at the table, feeling eerily calm. He can see, if he squints, the faintest splash of red that has escaped, bright on the floorboard near him. 

The chatter carries on around him. 

“Oh my,” Sonia says. 

“Do not alarm yourselves unnecessarily,” Togami says. 

Hajime blinks twice. He turns his head slowly, surveying the room. Togami has a pair of night vision goggles in his hand and he frowns down at them. 

“Defective. As expected of anything not manufactured by the Togami Group.” He says, disgusted. 

Owari’s nose twitches. “I smell blood.” 

Hajime lifts the tablecloth. 

Komaeda’s body lays beneath the table, face down, in a pool of blood. His face, even in death, is twisted into a despairing grin. 

“I guess you got what you wanted,” Hajime murmurs under the screaming, reaching out to gently close the eyelids over that pale fanatical gaze. 

~~  
ANOMALY LOGGED  
….  
#11037A  
….  
COMPLETE  
…..  
CONTINUE DIAGONSTIC ?  
..…  
Y  
…..

“A body has been discovered!” 

~~

Someone has painted over the inside of the night vision goggles. A very thin coat of black paint, transparent enough in the light, but in the dark, when needed, they failed. 

Only one pair was altered, and it was the pair that Togami picked up. Because of course it was. 

The rest of the trial is straightforward. Hanamura burns. Everyone cries. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Togami keeps asking. His voice wavers strangely. “Why didn’t he just _say?_ I’m- reliable- I’m- Byakuya-” He shakes. Were his eyes always so round? His clothes sit strangely, for such expensive fabric. Even his hair seems a little dull, a little flat. Less bright golden brown shine. 

“Are you?” Hajime asks coolly, because he can. 

Togami breaks. 

~~  
PROGRESS LOGGED  
…...  
EJECT PARAMETERS SUCCESSFUL  
…...  
…...  
STANDBY FOR REINTEGRATION SEQUENCE  
…..

~~

Hajime lets Souda help him properly this time, only half listening to the other’s excited ramblings. 

“-never thought it would be possible, to make changes to the events like that- the variable algorithms gotta be through the roof, though that’s really more your thing.” His voice is so excited and quick that it makes Hajime feel sore. Which is unfair, it’s only a game. 

“Are you… okay?” Souda slaps the bandage back in place a little too hard but Hajime doesn’t react. “I thought you would be a little more jazzed, the way that turned out. Like it was the best possible outcome.” 

Hajime looks up sharply. Weren’t Komaeda and Souda all friendly now? Maybe Game Komaeda was still on his shit list, then. Not like he was real. It wasn’t real. 

“Nobody deserves to die like that. None of us at any time.” He says, voice clipped. Souda unexpectedly beams. 

“ _Exactly!_ ” 

Hajime blinks at him, certain there is some piece of information he is missing. Something significant. The feeling is such a novelty that he struggles to label it at all. 

“I know you don’t gotta _sleep_ sleep but I do, you know? So take a break and let’s meet back up after lunchtime. Man, I am feeling so much better about this now. You were right, I was freaking out over nothing.” 

Hajime lets himself be ejected from the room. Souda is whistling a little peppy tune he recognizes as one of Mioda’s, when she was still in the pop band. He stares at the closed door a little too long before giving in and heading downstairs. It’s early yet, too early for Hanamura to be bustling around. Hajime opens the pantry and glances around, taking stock. He needs sugar. The blood loss from repeated short term psychodive jacks are generally negligible. Still, better to be vigilant early on. He settles on orange rolls. He’s rolling out the batch when Komaeda slides into the stool in the corner, eyes crinkling pleasantly at the sight of Hajime’s rolled up sleeves. Hajime finishes shaping the last roll expertly before sliding the pan into the preheated stove. 

“So talented,” Komaeda yawns. “You pull an all-nighter in the lab and now you’re down here making perfect pastries for everyone. What an amazingly hopeful start to the day.” 

“I wasn’t awake,” Hajime says blandly. He reaches for a clean bowl, adding ingredients with half his attention fixed on the other. 

“At the testing phase already, I see. Should have expected that, from two Ultimates.” 

Hajime adds the new batter to a square glass pan. When he goes to rotate the orange rolls, he makes room for the second pan as well. As it bakes, he cleans the kitchen methodically. Komaeda seems content to watch quietly, today. Hajime rewards him with a cup of black coffee, the way he likes. 

“Ultimate coffee,” Komaeda breathes in the fumes. 

“Pretty sure that wasn’t on the list of my talents.” Hajime pulls both pans at once, satisfied with their progress. While the cake in the glass pan cools, he whips up the frosting and glazes the orange rolls. He sets them back into the oven on the lowest setting to keep warm after putting some on a plate for himself. He turns to the cooling cake and cuts a generous slice. He puts the cake in front of Komaeda and turns to the business of eating. 

“Ah- this is for me? I’m overwhelmed that you would use your talent for someone so insignificant, but when it comes to sweet things…” 

“Eat the cake, Komaeda.” Hajime tops off his orange juice, already on his second roll. 

Docile, Komeada picks up his fork and takes a bite. “Oh.” His eyes are wide. 

“It’s a semi-sweet coffee cake. The only sugar comes from the oranges.” Hajime licks a bit of frosting off his thumb. 

“I’ve never had cake I liked before.” Komaeda muses, sipping at his black coffee. 

“I’ll make it again, or Hanamura can. You need to be eating more. The treatments burn a lot of calories.” 

“Please don’t inconvenience yourself for something so pointless.” Komaeda says, the words a little less impactful when spoken around a mouthful of cake. This back and forth is comfortably uncomfortable, as most of their conversations go. Hajime, though, is feeling kindly disposed toward Komaeda. This does happen on occasion, but is usually squashed out by Komaeda’s… Komaeda-ness. Today Hajime is just glad to see that he’s alive and breathing and eating orange cake and for once Komaeda is letting him. 

“It’s a present. An early birthday present. Me baking for you sometimes.” Hajime says. 

“You know my birthday?” Komaeda is surprised. 

“I have read all of your files. And Ultimate Memory _is_ one of my talents.” 

“I was still under, at yours.” Komaeda swirls the dregs of his coffee in the cup. He has managed to eat the entire serving of cake. Since the nausea from his treatments often leave him struggling to finish dry toast sometimes, this is another thing that pleases Hajime today. 

“I’ll get these,” Komaeda says, sliding off the stool and gathering the few dishes left. 

“This afternoon, we need a PT session for the neuroprosthetic. It’s also time for an injection cycle so you have recovery time before we dock.” 

“If Hinata-kun says than it must be so.” Komaeda says, voice only slightly mocking. 

“What must be shall be,” Hajime quotes, remembering their conversation on the deck. 

“Now there’s a certain text,” Komaeda responds, bending over the sink. His hair is so long, now, that it falls in his face as he scrubs. 

It’s comfortable and pleasant and no one is dead for the moment or badly hurting which is what Hajime blames when he gathers Komaeda’s hair to one side, over his shoulder and out of the way. It is soft and clean and Hajime does not remember the last time that he touched another person’s hair deliberately. The taller man continues washing, unperturbed. 

“I was thinking of cutting it,” he says lightly, like this is normal. Probably it is normal. Hajime is the one who is making things weird. It’s the simulation. 

“You should get a hair tie from Mioda,” Hajime says instead. 

“Maybe so,” Komaeda agrees pleasantly and Hajime leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous use of Shakespeare, Sparknotes version
> 
>  **O brave new world that has such people in it** \- a line spoken by Miranda from the Tempest sincerely, as she is actually really excited to see the world outside of her island and its people, partly because she is sweet and optimistic and partly because she is super sheltered. Hajime uses this line ironically, more like how it's used in Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, to comment on the fact that they're not great people, being Despairs, and that he is jaded after integrating with Kamukura.
> 
>  **Admired Miranda, so perfect and so peerless** \- abbreviated quote from Miranda's lover Prince Ferdinand. Komaeda uses this quote for a couple of reasons. First, he is deliberately ignoring the context of the line before and taking it sincerely, which is a dig at Hajime to annoy him through paying an insincere compliment. Secondly, Ferdinand is a bit of an idiot blinded by love, so this is also a way to make fun of himself and how he worships the Ultimates- while worshipping an Ultimate. Komaeda's like that.
> 
>  **Cordelia** \- King Lear's youngest daughter. The tragedy of the play happens when she refuses to lie and suck up to her dad and show off to inherit wealth. She ends up disowned though she is the only one who truly loves him. She dies in the play at the end, after implied torture. When Hajime says tortured, he is making a pun based on her circumstance and the fact that Komaeda is deliberately annoying him.
> 
>  **Sick, O sick** \- a line spoken by Cordelia's sister Regan before she dies of poison. Both a reference to Komaeda's in-game suicide and a comment on his state of mind as unbalanced or mentally sick. Regan died because of her competition for Edmund's hand with her sister who jealously poisoned her. She is implied to not care for Edmund personally, but instead pursed him and died all for the hope of advancement.
> 
>  **Madness yet there's method in it** \- Line from Hamlet that is referenced because Komaeda brings up her famous insanity and suicide. Hajime is using the line to point out that even when Komaeda is being crazy there is always some purpose, just as the current conversation must have a purpose as well. That's why he follows up by asking what Komaeda actually wants.
> 
>  **Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow** \- Line from Macbeth, beginning of a soliloquy that Macbeth uses to point out the pointlessness and monotony of life after his wife dies and just before he is defeated and dethroned. Komaeda uses this quote to answer Hajime as to why he is there- he wants to knock Hajime out of his depressive, detached state of boredom. He decided the best way to do this is to provoke him.
> 
>  **He that dies pays all debts** \- a line from the Tempest, spoken by Stephano, a servant who ambitiously tries to kill Prospero and marry his daughter Miranda. His plot is thwarted and his end is unclear in the play, as he is not considered a very important character. Komaeda uses this quote both because he thinks that being dead would free him of his obligations to make up for his past/any bad things that might occur because of him in future, and to indicate that his role is not significant, even in death.
> 
>  **What must be shall be** \- a line from Romeo and Juliet when Juliet is forced to agree to marry Paris despite already being wed to Romeo. It sounds like agreement, but indicates that Juliet will only do so if the gods make it her fate and intervene as she has no intention of agreeing herself. Hajime uses the line to make fun of Komaeda's passive aggressive way of accepting Hajime's directions for Physical Therapy and treatment, most likely because Komaeda would prefer to ignore his condition altogether.
> 
>  **Now there's a certain text** \- the answering line to Juliet's statement, spoken by Friar Lawrence who performed the marriage between Romeo and Juliet. He is acknowledging her statement's true meaning in order to try and get Paris to leave so he can plan openly with Juliet. Komaeda uses it to try and close down the conversation and to indicate to Hajime that he knows he's being mocked.


	2. Chapter 2

Tsumiki jots down notes on the chart while Hajime speaks aloud.

“Follow my movements. Indicate pain level when prompted,” he instructs. 

Hajime raises his arm, makes a fist. Komaeda, sitting across from him, mirrors his actions. He flexes his fingers, waves hello. Komaeda’s face is schooled into the same bored pleasant expression he always wears when he hates something. 

“Pain level.” 

“Zero.” 

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “Pain level,” he repeats. 

“One.” Komaeda huffs. 

“Mild and barely noticeable. Not continuous or spiking.” Hajime says flatly. And although he knows it is unfair, he flips his arm over, performing a come-hither gesture. The underside connectors were the trickiest to incorporate. Komaeda, expression strained, turns his arm and beckons Hajime, unable to hide a small wince. 

“...two,” Komaeda mutters. 

“Noticeable but not distracting.” Hajime says doubtfully, pressing his palms together. “Push for a five count.” 

Komaeda does so without hesitation or complaint, but sweat beads on his brow, dampening his bangs by the time Hajime finishes. Hajime drops his arms abruptly and Komaeda lets his drop too, but slowly. Hajime notices.

“Raise your hands above your head and keep them there.” 

Is that hesitation? So brief that it may have been coincidental. 

“List the prime numbers from 1 to 100.” 

Komaeda stares. 

“Hope’s Peak was a very good school,” Hajime says smoothly. “Even a reserve course student could tell you those. It should be easy for a main course student like you.” Komaeda’s hands falter. “Keep them up.” 

Tsumiki has the clipboard cradled to her chest, eyes darting back and forth between them rapidly as Komaeda begins. 

“Two. Three. Five. Seven. Eleven. Seventeen,” he says evenly, but his voice is very low. “Nineteen. Twenty-three. Twenty…nine…. Thirty-one…” Komaeda swallows hard. Hajime watches him closely. 

“...Thirty-one…” 

“You said that already.” 

Komaeda glares. 

“Down,” Hajime says and Komaeda obeys, struggling to conceal even the smallest sign of relief. “Difficulty concentrating that interferes with daily activities. Pain level?”

“Three.” Komaeda grits his teeth. 

“Three.” Hajime repeats. 

“Hinata-san…” Tsumiki tries timidly, but Hajime is fully focused on his patient. 

“It’s manageable,” Komaeda says. “Even for trash like me, this much is fine.” 

“That’s not how physical therapy works, Komaeda, do I need to go over this again-” 

“There’s no need to go out of your way to clarify such important matters with an ignorant lab rat-”

“You’re not a _lab rat,_ Jesus Christ-” 

“Stop!” Tsumiki yells shrilly, eyes closed. “Every time-” She trembles, looking at them looking at her, but then she straightens, leaning back. A little of that detached, authoritative Tsumiki- the way she only gets when she’s healing or hurting people- comes back into her expression. Deep breath. 

“Komaeda-san, you _must_ understand. Without an honest r-representation of your pain levels, we can’t diagnose small problems before they become big problems. There are many different factors in your prosthetic, from the sheathing to the mechanics, and if something isn’t working, pain is the only way to know. You want Hinata-san’s invention to work its absolute b-best, don’t you? It would be such a waste if you don’t have its full, um, potential.” Komaeda, stunned into silence, looks suitably chastened. 

“And Hinata-san! I know you-you’re so _smart_ and… and _talented_ when I’m nothing but a lowly nurse, b-but… your bedside manner is terrible! You can’t bully your patients into getting better. You’re not like this with anybody else, so be more understanding!” 

A beat. 

Hajime sighs, running a hand through his hair. It grazes his surgery scar, which he finds oddly grounding. “You’re right, I’m sorry. What do you suggest?” He looks at Tsumiki openly. 

Tsumiki straightens, no longer hiding behind her clipboard. “I-I will complete Komaeda-san’s diagnosis and I will administer his treatment after. Then we can hold a separate consultation later, Hinata-san.” 

“Are you taking over as primary caregiver?” Hajime asks, bemused. 

“For now. If Komaeda-san doesn’t m-mind terribly.” Her face flickers with uncertainty. 

“Of course,” Komaeda says absently. “Whatever you think is best.” He glances at Hajime. “Souda will be expecting you soon anyway.” 

Hajime nods. Though they had been fighting only moments before, now he is reluctant to leave. From the wide-eyed way that Komaeda keeps looking at him, Hajime thinks he might be feeling the same way. 

“Hinata-san,” Tsumiki prompts. 

“Right. Right, sorry.” Hajime leaves, heading down the hall toward the labs. 

Souda is there already. He’s modified the desk chair to be more comfortable and there’s a small cooler of snacks and drinks at his elbow. 

“Settling in for the long run?” Hajime asks. 

“Don’t wanna miss even a second!” Souda grins. 

It’s all so morbid, Hajime thinks. And a little out of character for Souda to enjoy seeing an alternative version of the Killing Game they’d barely survived. It doesn’t mesh with the Souda he knows, but then, how well does he really know anyone? He’d needed Tsumiki to yell at him today just to get himself together. He’s in no position to judge. 

“Let’s go, then.” Hajime settles into the chair. 

~~  
DANGANI.EXE  
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ANOMALY LOG #11037A  
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“Ah, Hajime… you’re already here. Good morning!”

~~

Koizumi carries the platter of rolled omelette in from the kitchen, putting it on the table next to the pitcher of juice. She smiles at him cheerily and there’s another wave of that disquieting feeling. Did she really have such a rapid recovery before? Did changing the victim reduce the impact so very much?

Hajime takes a bite of egg. It’s good- the right balance of sweetness and dashi. It practically melts in his mouth. He blinks in astonishment. He had remembered that she had taken over cooking duty, after Hanamura’s death, but he hadn’t remembered it being anything like this. 

“This is so good.” He isn’t hungry, he’d eaten in the real world before his dive but his taste receptors are still connected so he takes another bite for the hell of it. 

“Right.” Koizumi gives him a strange look. Maybe she thinks he’s being insincere. 

“It is,” he insists. “You did a great job.” 

Her face flushes red, but not in embarrassed pleasure at a compliment. She seems genuinely angry. “Are you trying to be funny?” She snaps. 

“N-no?” Hajime glances around in his confusion. Imposter, still wearing Togami, sits with Sonia and Tanaka nearby, all whom seem very invested in this spectacle of Hajime’s own accidental making. 

“Then it’s because I’m a girl? All girls can cook, _right?_ That’s all they’re good for!” Koizumi’s really leaning into this, standing over the table with hands on her hips. 

“I just really liked them!” He yells, not sure why he’s yelling- “Breakfast is really good!” 

“Of course it is,” Komaeda chirps, leaning between them to snag a piece of omelette. “The Ultimate Cook made the Ultimate Breakfast!” Behind him, the door to the kitchen swings open and Hanamura walks through with a big grin and a platter of bacon. 

~~  
PROGRESS LOGGED  
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~~

“What’s up, you okay?” Souda hovers anxiously as Hajime blinks back to himself. 

“They’re all there,” he says vaguely.

“Yeah.” Souda grins. “I couldn’t believe it either, you know? I thought you might maybe be in shock or something last night. Did it just hit you logging back in?” 

Hajime doesn’t know what to say but Souda doesn’t seem to need an answer. 

“I cued it back up, see? I must have watched it three times since then. Oh- I didn’t tell nobody though. It might just be a fluke.” 

Souda wheels a monitor over, keeping Hajime comfortably in his pod for the moment. He cues up the video and hits play. 

~~

 _Beep. Beep._

_Darkness._

_Hajime is the closest to the table. He hears the swish of Komaeda’s parka as he moves, focuses on the sound. He reaches out with unerring accuracy and takes Komaeda by the hand. Komaeda freezes._

_“Please,” Hajime says, quietly._

_Lights._

_“Oooh, Hajime-chan!” Ibuki flutters her eyelashes, pointing at them._

_“How unexpected that an Ultimate like Hinata-kun would be afraid of the dark!” Komaeda says brightly, swinging their joined arms in a way that is both carefree and obnoxious._

_“Gross,” Saionji mutters snidely._

_“Everybody’s afraid of something,” Hajime says, giving Komaeda’s hand the smallest squeeze before letting go. “Hey Komaeda, come with me to the kitchen? I want to give Hanamura a hand.”_

_“My time is your time, anytime!” Komaeda answers before following, but outside the door his face goes unnervingly blank. For now, Hinata ignores it, going into the next room. Hanamura stands at the sink, washing a pan. He washes the pan, rinses the pan, pours more soap on the pan. He does this two or three times before Hajime speaks._

_“Everything okay in here?” Hanamura drops the pan. At the sight of Komaeda calmly in the doorway behind Hajime, he swallows hard, turning back to the sink._

_“Errytink goin’ a jus’ fine raight hea.” He mutters quickly to himself._

_“Weird blackout. Glad nobody got hurt.” Hajime looks over the party dishes, the very picture of nonchalance. He ignores the long sigh Hanamura lets out. “Aren’t you glad?” He asks, picking up a tray of spicy karaage to take back to the dining room._

_“Of course,” Komaeda says whimsically._

_“Yeah. I… I am glad.” Hanamura says, barely audible over the running water._

_“Wanna grab that one with with strawberry chocolate dip?” Komaeda obeys, cheery expression firmly in place. “Ah, but not that one.” He checks Komaeda’s hand, reaching for the meat on the bone. “We have enough. We don’t need that.”_

~~

Souda hits pause. “And after that was all the party stuff. I know he’s lucky, but Komaeda getting to be King in the Osama Game four times in a row was a little…” 

“And nobody died.” Hajime says.

“And nobody died.” Souda shakes his head. “Look man, if this is too much for you right now, we can wait, you know? We can wait.” 

This is the anomaly, then. Separate feeds running concurrently in real time on parallel displays. The anomaly must increase with each deviation, splitting into dozens, hundreds, thousands of variations. 

“No.” Hajime shakes his head. “I don’t want to wait. I need more data.” 

“If you’re sure.” Souda is a little too eager. Hajime gets it now. 

“I’m sure,” he says, jacking back in. 

The simulation picks back up where he’s left off. He spends time with Imposter, trying out the most unusual snacks at the market. He does well, he thinks, until they hit the wasabi M&Ms when Hajime gracefully concedes to Togami’s superior taste buds. It’s a little mindless, as he runs off the sugar with Pekoyama, but he’s always been good at multitasking so Hajime laughs and speaks perfunctorily while the majority of his attention goes to the algorithm needed to calculate point of deviation and convergence. Which feed variation is determinate as the default? He needs to see more applied variables. 

~~  
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~~  
Hajime sits up. “Why did you eject?” He asks. There is a half-filled legal pad on the desk; after replacing his bandages, he picks it up, flipping to a clean page. Half-listening, he begins jotting down discordant sequences of code to check later. 

“It’s been six hours,” Souda says, indicating the clock. “I figured you wanna come back overnight again? We’re set to dock tomorrow afternoon.” 

Meaning that the diagnostic would need to be put on hold- delaying the application of the Chibi-P for its intended purpose. Hajime sighs. 

“You, uh, should go get a new bandage. Maybe?” Souda says nervously. Hajime glances down. The legal pad is smeared with blood from his unraveling gauze, rendering several lines illegible. “You keep that one. It’s on me.” Souda adds hastily. 

Hajime takes the notebook with him when he heads out, going down to the makeshift infirmary. Tsumiki is there, sitting on a stool with her ankles neatly crossed. She hums a little slow tune, some kids show from way back when, and checks things off on her list. It’s nice to see her so calm and so still. The sight is novel enough to bring a real half-smile to his face- though, of course, this disappears when she spots him and promptly falls to the floor. 

“H-Hinata-san! I-I was just-” 

Hajime picks her up by the waist, setting her on the stool gently but firmly. 

“You’re here about K-Komaeda-san?” Tsumiki squeaks, eyelashes fluttering in distress. Her anxiety exhausts him. 

“Actually,” Hajime says conversationally, holding up his wrist. “Do you have roller bandages?” 

The sheen of Tsumiki’s eyes lessens. Her eyes focus on his wrist. She takes his arm, pulling it into the light. She presses the area around the wound lightly, brow furrowing. 

“W-Why is the bruising so severe?” She asks, voice measured. “Have you been using the same source for multiple injection sites?” Hajime has the good grace to look guiltily at the ground. “I know you have an accelerated healing factor with the hyper-efficient metabolism they put into place, but there’s no need to be so reckless. If you insist on using direct intravenous feed for the pod, then I must insist that you also alternate the needle injection sites. Turn around, please.” 

Hajime obeys. 

“Hinata-san! This is simply u-unacceptable.” She says, cool long fingered hands against the torn skin at the back of his neck. “There’s so much unnecessary tissue damage. You must be more careful.” Tsumiki slides off the stool and walks quickly to the cabinet, rummaging through. Hajime sits in the stool obediently, arm resting palm up against the cool examination table. Tsumiki begins patching him up expertly. 

“One more entry point in that wrist, and I’ll have you in a tubular stretch bandage for a week. It’s not good for your blood pressure.” She warns. 

“Sorry,” Hajime says meekly. 

“I know it’s important. That’s why we came. But… you’re important too. You have to try and be both. You and…. and Komaeda-san both.”She finishes, sitting in the seat across from him, folding her hands neatly before herself. 

“How is he?” Hajime asks cautiously. 

“Calmer, a bit. Maybe. I think the vacuum suspension system is what is giving him so much pain. I think you might want to consider creating a hybrid suction-seal by reducing the lining. His proprioception is optimal, all considered. It should increase socket comfort.” 

“A more natural geometric configuration,” Hajime agrees. He makes a note in the corner of the legal pad, around the smear of blood. Tsumiki blanches- it is highly unsanitary, after all, but she thinks better of protesting. “How did he take the treatment?” 

“Well.” Tsumiki hesitates. Hajime raises an eyebrow. A beat. Tsumiki gives herself a little shake and slides the folder she was working on across to him. He flips open the chart. 

“You’ve decreased the dosage,” Hajime says flatly. 

“Y-yes. I did.” Tsumiki stares up at him defiantly. 

“He’s close to remission, and the regeneration therapy results are promising. I don’t see the value in reducing concentration levels.” 

“Permission to speak freely,” Tsumiki gulps. 

Hajime relaxes his gaze, which has gone sharp and steely as he looks over the folder. His expression softens. Be patient, now. Hear her out. 

“Always,” he says sincerely, and she, too, smiles, albeit nervously. 

“Such an aggressive treatment regime is reducing his quality of life. He isn’t sleeping or eating well.” 

“You think his PT results will be more promising with a less rigorous cycle?” 

“More than that. Komaeda-san… he’s unhappy. The illness and treatments drain him. You’re seeing the reduction in episodic outbursts as progress, but I think he’s just tired. You’re pushing him harder and faster than anyone else. He wants to meet your expectations, but sometimes that’s impossible. All that’s happening is that the two of you are becoming frustrated. He needs space to heal.” 

Hajime processes what she says in silence for a minute. He cannot disagree with her assessment. The reasons are unimportant- feeling that Komaeda needed the push, or could handle the pressure- regardless. It wasn’t professional. It wasn’t helping. Hajime swallows down the swell of frustration that he finds synonymous with Komaeda these days and bows his head in quiet acceptance. He should simply be grateful for Tsumiki’s intervention before his actions led to a serious setback. 

“It’s not like I hate him,” Hajime says almost to himself. 

“Oh Hinata-san.” Tsumiki smiles at him with warmth. “That’s not what I said at all. You’re too close to the situation to think it out properly, is all.” She giggles. 

“Hm?”

She turns a bit red. “Ah, no! It’s just that, seeing you get too close to something to be really objective… it’s nice! Sometimes when you’re so cool and confident all the time, it makes me feel like- like you’re not really part of us, just our keeper. This is so much more human. It makes me less afraid of you!” Her eyes go wide. “Oh! I’m s-sorry, what a rude, dis-disrespectful thing to say-!”

Hajime laughs. She stops short, a small smile playing across her face as well. 

“Tsumiki,” Hajime says fondly. “Having you be less afraid of anything is the highest compliment you can give.” 

“Am I interrupting?” Komaeda hovers in the doorway, smiling pleasantly as one does when coming into a conversation a little too late to understand the joke. 

“Not at all,” Tsumiki assures him, rising. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yes, I was just wondering- about what we discussed earlier.” Komaeda resolutely does not look at Hajime. 

“Of course!” Tsumiki rises, going to the medicine cabinet. Hajime flips the next page in the legal pad, making a few sketches for adjustments to the suspension system- possible materials for lining replacement. Something breathable, certainly. Tsumiki hesitates, hand over the open drawer, first tapping one then the other case of pills. Hajime isn’t looking, but he knows the organization structure of the drawer and the sound of her rummaging and the placement of her body tells him everything. 

“Ramelteon should prove least reactive with his current medication,” Hajime suggests gently, not looking up. 

“Ah-!” Tsumiki pulls the tablets out. 

“Ultimate Pharmacist,” Komaeda says, voice sharp. 

“It was my favorite,” Hajime says distantly. 

“You’re sweating.” Tsumiki interrupts. She studies Komaeda as she hands over the blister pack. 

“Treatment side effect,” Komaeda says brightly. Tsumiki bites her lip doubtfully. “It’s time, isn’t it? For you to check in on Mitarai back at Jabberwock? Imposter must be waiting for you on the communication deck.” Komaeda smiles. Hajime takes this moment to slip something out of the drawer nearest to him. Tsumiki gives a little huff before heading out. 

“Sit down, Komaeda.” Hajime’s tone brooks no argument. Komaeda laughs a little and obeys. Hajime slides the pills across the table. 

“What..?” 

“I know that you don’t like sweet things, but you’re hypoglycemic.” 

“Forgive my impertinence, I forgot that you know everything about everyone at all times,” Komaeda pops the sucrose tablets with a small face of distaste that makes Hajime look very hard at his notebook to keep from smiling. Komaeda picks up the blister pack of sleeping pills and holds them up into the light. “Your favorite, huh? Tried a few?”

“I’ve tried them all.” Hajime replies. 

“All?”

“Hyper-efficient metabolism. Medication has about a 30% efficacy rating compared to that of a standard patient.”

Komaeda looks at him then, openly fascinated. “Is it the same for alcohol or recreational drugs?” 

“Less.” Hajime frowns. “Below pharmaceutical grade, such chemical compounds are woefully insufficient.” 

“So you’ve done them.” 

Hajime shrugs. He becomes disinterested quickly with anything involving himself and his experiences. “I was bored.” 

“Anything to pass time, then.” 

“Anything that didn’t involve other people.” Hajime corrects him. 

“Oh.” Komaeda looks down at his hands, splayed flat against the table. His color is looking a bit better already. 

“Oh?” Hajime has an idea of where the conversation is going, but he weighs the possibility that Komaeda will be even more embarrassed than himself, talking about it, and won’t that be a win? Komaeda taps the fingers of his prosthetic against the table- the pinky makes a sound that is just a little discordant, pad striking the metal a little off center. Hinata takes the prosthetic between his hands, adjusting the articulated joint with light pressure. Komaeda breathes in once, sharp- it doesn’t hurt, probably, but the sensations of the metallic arm are somewhat sensitive after PT. Hajime tests the joints in each finger, even though they are perfect, just because he can. 

“I already had PT,” Komaeda protests weakly. 

“Does this hurt?” Hajime asks. Komaeda shakes his head and he doesn’t pull away, even when Hajime’s hold travels up to his wrist. 

“So. Other people.” Komaeda’s voice is a little unsteady. His eyes are fixed on their joined hands. Hajime turns his arm over gently, smoothing fingers down to the crook, where the skin meets metal. He massages the connection in firm, short strokes. Another talent. Komaeda leans into it almost imperceptibly. 

“O keep me from their worse than killing lust,” Hajime quotes softly. 

“Priorities.” Komaeda shakes his head, amused. 

“You had yours. I believe you were busy babysitting.” 

“It wouldn’t have mattered where I was or what I was doing.” Komaeda’s face is faintly pink. “I am alone the villain of the earth, and feel I am so most.” Hajime’s hands still. Their eyes meet. “No one in their right mind would touch me on purpose.” 

Now they’re both red in the face. Hajime doesn’t feel that he’s lost, though. He lets go of Komaeda gently. 

“Do you think you can handle soup? I feel like miso.” Komaeda blinks long lashes and follows him to the kitchen. 

~~  
DANGANI.EXE  
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“Ah! Isn’t this an arcade machine?”

~~

Monokuma’s first real attempt to provoke murder. Twilight Syndrome Murder Case. The promise. Hajime hangs back. If his actions really do affect the outcomes, it would be in his best interest to introduce those variables as early as possible. Kuzuryu looks at him strangely. Hajime maintains eye contact until the smaller boy huffs angrily, cursing under his breath and walking away. Hajime turns to the game case, but he has been too slow in his stare-down. 

Komaeda taps at the game console expertly. Hajime doesn’t even know why he’s surprised. 

It takes very little time at all for Komaeda to reach the extra secret mode. Monokuma arrives in a shower of confetti. A small panel opens, ejecting a manila envelope. 

“Hey, what is that?” Koizumi is at his elbow suddenly. When Hajime looks backwards, most of the group, noting his absence, came back. They crowd behind him. 

“Dammit, Komaeda! We made a promise!” Souda yells. 

“I am disappointed in your inability to follow your leader’s directive.” Imposter sneers. 

“What’s the prize?” Nanami asks, zeroing in on the envelope. 

Komaeda laughs, a soft, gentle thing. “Ah, please excuse a lowly worm like me, but- isn’t that _my_ business?” The chattering crowd stills and, oh, Hajime realizes that they hadn’t yet met him, real Komaeda. His eyes go wide, unseeing, mad. “I mean I was the first to beat the game! Oh, but I’m sure it has some replay value. Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two, if you can stomach it. But this is mine to do with as I please. And for now, I shall decide all on my lonesome. Please do excuse me from your shining presence.” 

Komaeda’s eyes slide along the crowd, noting with amusement the looks of disgust and confusion. Hajime, at the end of the crowd, just looks back, smiling faintly. Now _this_ is a Komaeda he can deal with. 

Hajime waits until it’s late- so late. Four in the morning. He knocks on Komaeda’s cabin door lightly. He notes, as the door creaks open, that it hadn’t been locked. Upon seeing him, Komaeda’s smile falters only a moment. Hajime shoulders his way inside, Komaeda stepping back to make space. Hajime locks the door. 

“You’re only getting that prize over my dead body, Hinata-kun.” His voice is teasing- he knows that Hajime isn’t going to hurt him. Still, his flat expression betrays his puzzlement. 

“That information is dangerous.” Hajime warns him. 

“Ah, so you figured it out from the game? Clever, Hinata-kun! I wonder if that ties into your talent somehow…”

“Don’t do something stupid with those pictures.” Hajime says bluntly. 

"How-? Nevermind. That motive isn’t for _me,_ you know-” Komaeda waves him off and Hajime catches his hand. 

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” Hajime says quietly. The wrist under his hand is so delicate and soft. The pulse beats as loudly as the whirring gears in the prosthetic and he has a moment of deja vu so strong he can’t breathe. 

“Ultimate Bleeding Heart,” Komaeda says lightly, not meeting his eyes. “I’ve already made up my mind.” 

“So what else is new.” Hajime lets go. “Lock the door, please,” he says on his way out. Nanami watches him go back to his cabin from beside the pool, fingers still tap-tapping at her PSP. 

Souda. Camping out in the diner. Swimsuits. Nanami slides into the booth next to him. Her proximity is uncomfortably warm. He presses back against the wall, looking out the window. 

Koizumi and Pekoyama walk into the diner together. Both are drenched. Koizumi keeps trying to smile, but it looks more like baring her teeth. 

The beach house. 

Komaeda, propped up against the door, blood splattering down his back and trailing across the floor. 

~~  
ANOMALY LOGGED  
….  
#11037C  
….  
COMPLETE  
…..  
CONTINUE DIAGNOSTIC ?  
..…  
Y  
…..

“A body has been discovered!” 

~~

The investigation. 

Hajime plays the game, just to refresh his memory. 

“No prize for you, Puhuhuhu…”

“Yeah, only a prize for first.” Hajime rolls his eyes. 

“And second.” Monokuma says quietly. Hajime jerks in surprise but Monokuma just puts his hands to his mouth in mock surprise before disappearing up a tree. 

Komaeda’s cottage door is open and unlocked.

Koizumi is glued to Pekoyama. She looks ready to break in the slightest breeze. 

At the trial, it takes very little prodding for her to fold. 

When Kuzuryu had played the game, the events had been enough to trigger some small part of his memory. Shaken loose, he had broken into Komaeda’s cabin while he slept and gotten hold of the photos anyway. Fruitless interference on Hajime’s part. 

Except that Komaeda, upon realizing what was happening, had rushed to the beach house. He had sprung to Koizumi’s aid- and died in her place. 

Koizumi wails. He was so heroic. So gallant. So wonderful- 

Komaeda? Why? Since _when?_

But Hajime knows. He knows most things. When he’d gone to Komaeda to warn him, it had done something after all. He wonders if Komaeda is capable of any selfless act that won’t result in self destruction. 

“If you expect better of people, Hinata-kun, they tend to meet expectations.” Nanami says to him. 

“This isn’t what I meant.” Hajime growls. 

Pekoyama. 

“I am just a tool.” 

“You aren’t! You did it for love, you’re not a bad person…” Koizumi cries. 

Kuzuryu watches his arguments die, one by one. He smiles, defeated. “I never wanted a tool. I just wanted you. I love you.” He reaches into his jacket. The second place prize. 

He pulls out the gun. He fires. 

Bang. 

Pekoyama slumps to the floor. He turns. 

“You have cost me my two most important women.” 

Bang. 

Koizumi falls to the floor, a perfect round circle in the middle of her forehead. 

“You’re not following the rules!” Monokuma protests, but he kicks his stubby legs with barely-contained delight.

“Guess that makes this punishment time.” Kuzuryu puts the gun into his mouth and pulls the trigger. 

Bang. 

~~  
PROGRESS LOGGED  
…...  
EJECT PARAMETERS SUCCESSFUL  
…...  
…...  
STANDBY FOR REINTEGRATION SEQUENCE  
…..

~~

“What the hell-” Kuzuryu yanks open the door, annoyed expression faltering when he looks up at Hajime, arm still outstretched. “What’s wrong?” His tone shifts, all business. In the bed behind him, Pekoyama half sits up, the black negligee she wears contrasting with the bamboo sword she is already reaching for. 

Hajime shakes his head. He’s shaking very slightly all over, actually. Kuzuryu looks him up and down. 

“It’s fine, Peko. Go back to sleep.” He shuts the door, stepping out into the hall. 

“Sorry. It’s fine, I’ll go.” Hajime tries. 

“Like fuck.” Kuzuryu starts walking and Hajime falls into step beside him. “You dumb or something? You think I forgot what it was like waking up with the screaming mimis when Peko was still under? It was me banging on your door at fuck o’clock like an asshole. I owe you one or two, the way I see it.” 

Hajime mulls this over as Kuzuryu leads him to the kitchen. He puts the coffee on while Hajime sits. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Hajime shakes his head. “Trick question, asshole. You never wanna talk about it. But I know shit too. It had me in it, and Peko, probably.” Hajime nods. Kuzuryu makes a little satisfied noise, proud of himself. He fixes two mugs of coffee that are more cream and sugar than caffeine. 

“Sometimes I think the people I care about are never going to stop dying.” Hajime murmurs into his mug. 

“So Komaeda, too.” Hajime burns himself, inhaling the hot liquid sharply in surprise. 

“And Koizumi.” Hajime says, in a way he registers as being a little too defensive. Kuzuryu smirks. Hajime glares. 

“You got shit taste. Komaeda was crazier than a shithouse rat even before.” Hajime takes another sip of coffee, though he can hardly taste it now. “Though I guess I’m worse. I’m the only one who killed anybody before that Enoshima bitch even showed up.” He sits across from Hajime. “Wanna know why?” Hajime nods. 

“Natsumi was the best kid sister a guy could ask for. A real pain in the ass, but thoughtful and sharp. Real sharp. Felt like I could tell her anything, you know? Even the dumb shit. So I tell her, before I get shipped off to Hope’s Peak. I tell her I don’t give two fucks about being a yakuza. But I was doin’ it anyway because I was gonna be the Ultimate Yakuza and the Ultimate Oyabun… and then… I was gonna marry Peko.” Hajime feels himself go a little cold. He knew Natsumi, back when he was weak, sad little Reserve Course Student. 

“She laughed at me. Said they’d never let me marry Peko. And she was right. They’d have killed her first. I mean, an Onna-Oyabun’s gotta be your second, right? She’s gotta make hard decisions when the chips are down. They never let Peko even pick out her own hair ribbons, fucking bastards. I hated Natsumi for that. I didn’t talk to her for six months. And then she was dead.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hajime says. 

“Don’t be. I’m telling you cause I wanna tell you. Point is, I was always gonna be a lousy piece of shit killer. I just got bigger than I oughtta. And now I gave it up. Cause of Peko and cause of you. So don’t act like it don’t matter.” 

“Ah, what is this? A late night tryst? I hope you thoroughly… sanitized your working area.” Hanamura waggles his eyebrows as he walks in. Kuzuryu sneers, but Hajime speaks first. 

“In the Killing Game,” he says, and they exchange a look before giving him their attention, “if somebody stopped you the first time, do you think you would have kept trying?” 

Hanamura walks to the fridge, pulling out cream and eggs. Kuzuryu settles back into his seat. The silence stretches. Hanamura is beating egg yolks by hand for custard, expression thoughtful, when he speaks. 

“The first time I tried making my famous pain perdu-” 

“You can fuckin’ say french toast,” Kuzuryu rolls his eyes-

“- it took me over a hundred tries to find the perfect combination. That silky sweet custard, that milky white bread and sticky sweet syrup dripping-” 

Kuzuryu clears his throat, face pink. 

“Well. In cookin’, it’s try and try and try again. But you know, when you’re cookin’, you’re not cookin’ for you. You’re cookin’ to make other people happy. Makin’ people happy? That ought to be the whole point. It ain’t meant to hurt people. I think I woulda remembered that, eventually.” 

Kuzuryu leans forward. “He means no. He don’t think so, anyway. Me neither, but fuck it, right? That ain’t who we are now. What’re you making for breakfast anyway?” 

“French toast,” Hanamura says primly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous use of Shakespeare, Sparknotes version
> 
> TW: reference to sexual assault
> 
>  **O keep me from their worse than killing lust** \- a line from Titus Andronicus where Lavinia is begging to be killed rather than raped, as to her, life was less important than chastity. In this context, Hajime is explaining that as Izuru he would rather kill for Enoshima and the others than be intimate with any of them. Killing, to Kamukura, was less reprehensible than physical intimacy or romance. Komaeda points out the hypocrisy in his priorities for not valuing human life more or finding better companions in the first place. 
> 
> **I am alone the villain of the earth, and feel I am so most.** \- a line from Antony and Cleopatra from Enobarbus, who betrays Antony and is still treated so kindly afterward that he dies of guilt, possibly in a suicide. It's a reference to Komaeda's betrayal and the fact that he feels undeserving of Hajime's attention. He uses the quote to acknowledge that Hajime is probably flirting with him and questions his sincerity without outright rejecting him. So basically Komaeda is just talking more trash about himself.


	3. Chapter 3

~~

 _“No.”_

_Everyone stops, looking at Hajime._

_“It won’t work that way. Someone is bound to slip up, and keeping secrets will only make things worse. There’s only one way to settle this properly.” Hajime glances at Nanami. “Will you do the honors, Ultimate Gamer?”_

_Nanami works through Twilight Syndrome Murder Case, eyes narrowed in concentration. Hajime narrates the screen out loud for those too far back to see properly. Kuzuryu, he makes sure, is right up front- next to Saionji, peering at the screen on either side of him. Kuzuryu is quiet, as he often is between profane outbursts. Oddly enough, after a quick crack about the graphics, Saionji falls silent as well. One hand comes up to clutch at the front of her kimono- a bad habit that wrinkles the front of her clothes, one that she should have been trained out of long ago._

_By the end of the Game+, Kuzuryu is shaking. Peko, at the edge of the crowd, watches him. Her usually impassive face is surprisingly open, if you know what to look for, as Hajime does._

_The manila envelope ejects._

_“Wait.” Koizumi steps forward, expression torn. “I don’t think- I don’t think everyone should see those.”_

_“Who do you think should see those?” Hajime asks, voice neutral. He pretends to feel around the edges. “Seems like photographs.” Kuzuryu reels back, hands grasping at the air emptily, open and closed._

_“Oh, I get it.” Nanami says suddenly. “This is like that 50/50 game. It’s where you click a link online and it takes you to something good, like a picture of kittens, or something bad like… um. Bad things.” Her gaze slides away, into the distance. “I don’t like the types of games where it’s just luck. I don’t want these.” Nanami thrusts the envelope at Koizumi. “You’re the Ultimate Photographer. You take them.”_

_Mioda is twirling one long strand of hair around her finger idly, eyes a little glazed. Tsumiki seems to be breathing heavily. Koizumi takes the envelope._

_Sonia stares. “Whatever shall you do with those?”_

_“T-throw them away,” Koizumi is unconvincing._

_“Again?” Hajime asks deliberately._

_Kuzuryu falls to his knees and screams._

_Pekoyama is there suddenly and Koizumi is crying and Saionji keeps trying to talk but Tsumiki’s endless apologies drown her out. Mioda sinks down into a dogeza._

_“We were bad,” she says firmly. “Doesn’t matter who did how much. Fuyuhiko-chan, we did you and your sister wrong! Ibuki is sorry!”_

_Tsumiki almost tears her own dress with her eagerness to follow. Koizumi, hands clutching her traitorous camera, steps forward._

_“It was my fault,” Koizumi cries. “Sato killed for me so I lied. If I had just told the truth-!” She falls more than bows, and Saionji, pleading with her to get up, she doesn’t have to do this, is interrupted by Pekoyama._

_“The Young Master is a gentle person. He has a kind heart, despite being a yakuza. What you did forced him to take up his title. He would never have killed for himself. He did it for love. I don’t know whether to thank you or curse you for it.” She turns to Kuzuryu and gets on the ground as well. “This tool has failed you. I was too unreliable to use in your time of need, so you bloodied your own hands instead. I am unworthy to serve you.”_

_Kuzuryu gets on his knees before her and pulls her up to face him. He’s actually a little taller for once, in this position, and he presses the advantage. “I don’t ever wanna use you. I don’t want you to serve me. I just want you by my side… but I’m a murderer. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you…”_

_It’s all very dramatic._

_In the end, no one dies._

~~

Hajime watches the monitor, face impassive. This is what he’ll be logging into, next session. How droll. Theatrical. Uninspired. 

Boring. 

There, though. At the edge of the crowd and oddly silent, Komaeda watches. Hajime has to remember that in this version, it’s still secret- the real Komaeda. He rewinds, plays it once again to see Komaeda’s face more clearly, expression twisting further and further into disappointment with every shift in the glorious drama. Hajime can relate. 

“Condemn it as improbable fiction,” Hajime murmurs. 

“We got time, if you wanna go say goodbye to the real one.” Souda’s voice comes in loud from the doorway behind him. “I still gotta change. What idiot’s bright idea was a white suit anyway? I’m a _mechanic._ ” 

“We have to distinguish ourselves from the Future Foundation,” Hajime answers without turning. “And Komaeda came up with the design. He said it was based on the aesthetic of light and dark in Go. No one else objected.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Hope and Despair and blah blah blah. I tune ‘em out when he starts saying all that kinda stuff, like any normal person.” Souda leans over the console and Hajime blinks. Souda’s hair is cut neatly, layers fairly even and short, dyed back to its natural color. Souda notices his gaze and scowls. 

“Guy can’t want a change every now and then?” He asks, hand coming up self-consciously to run through the bangs. “Even if it looks like hell, don’t say nothing in front of Mioda. I think she did a pretty good job with what she had to work with.”

“It looks good.” Souda’s face goes a little pink as he straightens up. “Any reason in particular?” Hajime knows this already, of course, but Souda’s fidgeting telegraphs his desire to have this conversation and judging from the slant of sunlight coming in from the port, they have about 90 minutes until they are urgently needed elsewhere. 

“I wasn’t happy being a nerd,” Souda says. “I wasn’t really happy in high school either, or… after. But at least in middle school the only person getting hurt was me. I figure maybe going back to that a little bit can’t be a bad thing, right? I mean we’re here in Towa City to help people, right? So I want to try and be a little better version of me if that’s the goal. I’m too old for the pink punk thing anyway, probably.” He ducks his head, tugging on the short hair. “Bet that sounds pretty stupid.”

“No,” Hajime says firmly. “It does not.” 

“....does it really look okay?” He peeks up at Hajime hopefully. 

“It does,” Hajime assures him. 

Souda grins at him. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it. If a hottie like you says it’s alright, it must be. Gimme like an hour to clean up here and I’ll meet you on deck?” 

Hajime hesitates near the door. “Why do you think I want to go see Komaeda? We should only be gone a few hours.” 

“Cause that’s normal, isn’t it? For that kind of thing.” 

Hajime’s eyes drift over Souda’s shoulder, where Game Komaeda’s face is still centered on the screen. “What kind of thing?” He asks. 

Souda pauses from where he’s throwing tools haphazardly into a portable case. He looks up at Hajime from where he is squatting on the floor, exasperated. “Why you asking me stuff you already know, man?” 

“Komaeda is a pain in the ass.” Hajime says defensively. 

“Well, yeah, but…” Souda grabs a wrench, tests it against the side of the box, and throws it over his shoulder to land in the corner. “...he gets you kinda pissed off and that’s loads better than when you’re going all Kamukura on us.” 

“Kamukura,” Hajime echoes. 

“Y’know, when you’re bored to death of everybody and you start looking around like we’re ants on a hill you haven’t figured whether or not to step on yet.”

“I don’t mean to,” Hajime says quietly. The words sting. Souda shrugs.

“We know, I’m not picking a fight or anything… I’m saying this Towa City stuff is gonna bore you outta your skull, so maybe you oughta go talk to someone who doesn’t so much for a minute.” 

~~

Hajime finds Komaeda in the crow’s nest, at the highest part of the ship. He’s sitting with a book, white suit jacket neatly folded on the bench beside him, and when he hears Hajime approach, he pauses. Komaeda looks Hajime up and down before carefully placing a bookmark in between the pages and cradling the book to his chest, giving him full attention. 

“That’s a good look for you,” Komaeda says, openly admiring. “Very hopeful.” 

Objectively, Hajime is attractive. He has a good build and height and symmetrical features… aside from the eye, which can be considered striking or off-putting, depending on the audience. The white suit brings out the tan in his complexion, and the crisp black dress shirt with white piping emphasizes his build. 

But that isn’t what Komaeda means. 

Hajime holds up his loose tie, his collar still open. “I noticed that I’m the only one with this particular design.” He keeps his voice even. The black silky tie has a pair of familiar white squiggles, interlocking. Komaeda’s design. “The reason for that being…?” 

“I’m sure you can think of one or two.” Komaeda winks. 

“I want the real one.” Hajime says slowly. “From you.” 

“Maybe I didn’t think you’d want to wear a plain black tie again.” Komaeda says, like an afterthought. 

Hajime blinks. Clothing was clothing. He hadn’t thought- but Komaeda had. Was that the real reason behind the color change? To keep him from reliving his time as Kamukura. 

“That…” He stops, at a loss for words. He looks down at the tie again, then at Komaeda. Komaeda’s shirt is a red button up, sleeves rolled halfway. One sleeve and part of the right side is black; the same symbol printed there in white. A matching set, without the jacket. He doesn’t wear a tie. 

It’s not uncharacteristic, for Komaeda to overstep like this… to brand himself or Hajime as _special_ or _connected_ or whatever nonsensical impertinence he’s decided on today. Hajime knows that what he is inclined to do is the most logical choice: toss the tie in Komaeda’s face and forgo it altogether. That might, from the way Komaeda continues to half smile and stare, even be the end goal. It is, like most situations involving Komaeda, perfectly calculated to have optimal results. Either Hajime grudgingly wears the tie and sinks under the weight of constant reminder, or he stays like this- looser, more approachable, and more appealing to those strangers he will be forced to meet. Hadn’t Komaeda looked just a little bit self-satisfied when Hajime had insisted on a newer, more formal uniform despite his suggestions? Hajime’s irritation rises. He’s sure it shows. 

“Tie or no tie,” Komaeda hums. “What a mundane thing to be angry about, Hinata-kun!” 

It’s true. 

He is angry.

But he isn’t bored. 

Hajime draws a quiet breath, thinks of going back just to see Komaeda’s face, on the screen. 

Curiosity. A novel concept. 

“Oh no, it is an ever-fixéd mark,” he says distantly, looking at the design. 

Komaeda drops the book. It thuds against the floor, bounces, and disappears down a crack. From below, they hear Owari wail as it strikes her on the head on the lower deck. They ignore it. Hajime, after some consideration, holds out the tie. Komaeda stands, taking it. Hajime buttons up his shirt, flipping up the collar and waiting. Komaeda steps closer. He loops the tie around Hajime’s neck, tying it briskly, keeping his eyes down. There is the slightest hint of color to his face. Temperature slightly elevated. Breathing shallow. 

“Is this good luck or bad luck?” Komaeda murmurs, but he doesn’t seem to be talking to Hajime, exactly, so he ignores it.

“I’m taking Souda ashore. We need to do a preliminary survey of the area and formulate a report. After... will you be here?” Hajime asks. 

“Where else would I be?” Komaeda asks. His pupils are slightly dilated. Deception? Stimulation? Arousal? Too many factors. Too many variables. 

“Will you be here?” Hajime repeats gently. 

“I… yes. I’ll be here.” Komaeda says, voice low. He looks at Hajime like… well. Like he always does. 

Hajime looks back. 

~~

Hajime is first down the gangplank. He doesn’t stand much on ceremony and doesn’t feel any particular pride in being the Leader of the Remnants of Despair, but his survival rate is 80% higher than anyone else because of his skill set, should this turn into an ambush. It will be unfortunate, should Souda fall in Towa City, and protecting him will be his highest priority after the mission parameters- but the maintenance robots Souda keeps below deck for emergencies will be enough to get the ship back to Jabberwock, if strictly necessary. The rest are under strict orders to stay put until his return, on the off chance that the situation deteriorates. They will commence with outreach within the next 24 hours, if all goes well. In a perfect world. Hajime knows that they are capable of taking care of themselves, for the most part, but he won’t undo the progress they have made, being better people, over a few crazed and strung out strangers. He won’t put them in a position where they have to kill. Not anymore. After that, once they complete the 48 and 72 hour checkpoints, they will be in a position to offer the Chibi-P’s services. Hopefully. 

“You came!” Two schoolgirls, or nearly, wait by the pier. Komaru Naegi is a sweet girl, pretty. She resembles her brother somewhat, with her wide, trusting eyes that particular shade. She is, in some ways, both softer and harder, though. Hajime smiles and extends his hand and has already dismissed her, evaluation hovering somewhere between _acceptable_ and _competent._ Toko Fukawa hovers anxiously nearby, her shoulders hunched. Her clothes are filthy, her hair is matted, and one of her heels is snapped off, but her eyes, behind her round glasses, are clear and calm. Whatever manic despair drove her to murder is gone now, in both forms. Her suspicious gaze locks on his and she slinks forward, like a snake, before stopping much closer than would be considered polite in normal society. They are, however, not in normal society, so Hajime stands still, letting her acclimate. 

“You’re like me,” she says, fascinated, focusing on that single red eye. 

“Yes,” he says. It’s easier that way. 

“Toko, I know he’s nice looking, but maybe give him a little space-” Komaru pulls on her arm, misreading the situation. 

“Hey, I only have eyes for Master, don’t go saying unnecessary things…” Toko gripes, pulling free with a huff. Then she grins, a sly little thing, before leaning in to whisper none-too-quietly. “So that’s your type, huh? You got a thing for a guy with a dark past, huh?” 

Komaru flushes, giving her a little shove. “Toko, stop! It’s not like that. You’re embarrassing me, jeez.” Toko sniggers and Hajime waits politely for them to finish. 

“So is it just you, or…?” Toko looks unimpressed, and it’s refreshing enough to earn another smile, a little less forced this time. 

“For the preliminary inspection, we thought a small group would be best. Our Ultimate Mechanic will be just a moment, he wanted to pick up a few more tools when I mentioned your Megaphone Hacking Gun.” 

Komaru perks up at that. “Oh that’s great, ever since that guy messed around with it, it’s been really fussy. I wish I knew how to fix it myself, I keep worrying it’s going to break for good at a really bad time.” She unclips the Megaphone from her belt loop and holds it up, offering it to Hajime. He takes the gun, turning it over and giving it a cursory once-over. 

“Is that the thing?” Souda asks, bounding down the gangplank like an oversized black and white dog, his jacket and shirt a little open, sloppy as usual. A pannier of tools is slung over one shoulder. His dark hair falls into his eyes as he leans over to stare so Hajime hands it to him. 

“Go nuts,” Hajime says offhandedly. 

Souda splits the plastic casing expertly. “Ah, man.” He laughs a little to himself. “Look at that.” Hajime glances over and shakes his head at what he sees. 

“W-What? Did you break it or something?” Toko asks accusingly. 

“No, it’s- Komaeda did this, right? I could tell just by looking. That guy’s luck is the weirdest thing. This shouldn’t even be working right now. See, this red wire is the power supply, and it’s bisected by the plastic ammo slot- it’s the only thing keeping it from shorting out altogether. So sloppy!” 

“You can fix it, then? Hey, didn’t you say it was way stronger before that creepy pretty-boy screwed around with it?” Toko turns to her friend. 

“Creepy pretty-boy, ha, yeah, that’s Komaeda all day.” Souda produces a mini-screwdriver from one pocket or another and starts poking about inside the casing. 

“Is that his name? He just called himself _Servant_ or whatever.” Toko watches with the barest interest. “Hey, Komaru, didn’t you say you wanted to know how to fix that thing? Why’re you being so quiet, it’s weird-” 

Komaru stands very still, face flushed, staring at Souda. At her name, Souda looks up too. He almost flinches, meeting her eyes. He slowly closes the plastic casing, holding it back out to her. 

“It’ll be more stable now,” he says, more quietly than Hajime has ever heard him say anything. “But if you want better performance, I need a flat surface and a couple of hours.” 

“Thanks,” Komaru says. 

Toko looks like she wants to say something, but looks back at Souda hard before closing her mouth and shaking her head. “We better give you the grand tour, huh?” 

Souda’s right, about Towa City. It’s a dismal, heartless sort of place, tawdry and predictable. Rebuilding efforts have hit the same plateaus over petty grievances that always happen, in situations like this, and Hajime finds himself oddly thankful for the little problem of the anomaly diagnostic to keep him occupied while he absentmindedly documents the situation for debriefing back at the ship. 

“And this,” Komaru finishes with a flourish, mostly recovered by now from the brisk walk, gesturing proudly up, “is our place!” 

The building is crumbling. All but two windows are cracked or completely missing. The telephone pole out front has downed wires that spit occasional sparks into the street. 

“You live here.” Hajime tries to keep his voice impartial. 

“I mean it’s no Towa Tower, but there’s a lot fewer murderbears and bloodstains, so…” Toko shrugs. 

“Are you stupid?” Souda asks, speaking up for the first time since the dock. 

“The hell-” Toko whirls on him, furious. 

“Are you even _looking_ at the foundation? This explosion mark was a Bomber Monokuma, wasn’t it? It’s completely wrecked the supports, you’re lucky the whole thing hasn’t collapsed underneath you.” 

“It’s one of the only buildings that have running water still,” Toko argues. 

“Those water lines need to be checked, god knows what kind of contamination is in the water table now. I hope you haven’t been drinking or bathing in it.” 

Komaru lets out a very quiet wounded noise, and Toko sneers in her general direction, clearly triumphant in a long-standing argument. Souda pulls off his jacket, rolls up the sleeves of his light grey dress shirt and squats down, digging through the pannier. 

The girls step off to the side of the building, out of sight. They hold a quick, hushed conversation that they seem to think is more discreet than the reality. 

“ _Really?_ You have some kind of machine kink, like a robot thing or-?”

“What? Shut up! No, it’s not. I’m not- ugh! It’s just, he looks, you know, like Motomoto-kun, so…” 

“Who? What?” 

“You know! _From The Bomb Inside Her!_ ” 

“That stupid manga?”

“Toko, I loaned you the first three volumes, you promised you were going to read them-” 

“Keep your panties on, I thought the main guy was Shota what’s-his-name…” 

“Motomoto was the unlucky rival! But he was rough and cool and they look just, maybe, like, a little alike. And he fixed my gun so easy, so… that’s nice...” 

“Bad boy type and a competency kink, huh? Gross otaku girl!”

“Oh my God, Toko, Shhh!” 

Souda walks to the telephone pole, disconnecting the electricity from the panel in the base with ease. “This is gonna take the rest of the night. Maybe tomorrow, too, depending on what it looks like inside the walls.” 

“I can help, you know.” Hajime starts to take his jacket off but Souda shakes his head irritably. 

“We’ve been gone hours. You need to head back and catch everybody up, or they won’t know it’s okay to get the ball rolling tomorrow.” 

“You want to stay here by yourself?” Hajime considers. “No ulterior motives, whatsoever?” He teases.

He is expecting Souda to launch into a rant about Sonia, or maybe to blush and stammer, or even to ignore the jab. Instead, he turns his eyes up toward Hajime, stare flat and unamused. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he says sharply. 

Hajime is taken aback. Souda never talks to him like that. 

“That kid doesn’t know anything, and neither do you.” Souda points at him with a screwdriver. “But you should.” 

“I should?” Hajime asks, baffled. 

“Look, I gotta get to work now if they’re gonna have a halfway okay place to sleep tonight. I’ll see you at the docks in the morning, okay?” Souda turns back to the wiring. 

“Okay,” Hajime echoes. 

~~

Back on the ship, Hajime holds a quick debrief. He speaks concisely and coolly about the situation, fielding questions and addressing concerns. Everyone takes notes. It’s very efficient. There are two empty seats, in the conference room. 

Hajime wonders what the limits are, in being disappointed in a person. 

But isn’t that why he had asked in the first place? For anyone else on the ship, a simple request with a clear reason would be plenty; they’d follow Hajime to hell or stand at the edge and watch him go. Whatever it took, whatever he wanted. It’s Komaeda, with his fawning and his simpering and his unabashed adoration who proves intractable and utterly uncontrollable. The irony is maddening. None of this changes the fact that Hajime wants to see Komaeda. 

This too seems inevitable. Even as Kamakura he’d retained some vague wish to reboot, to start over in the world they were breaking in some meaningful way- why else would he have erased their memories, and even his own? In the program, first desperate for a friendly face and then watching quietly for signs of trouble, everything came back to Komaeda. And after- psychodive after psychodive as Komaeda burrowed deeper and deeper into his own reality, one free of Hajime altogether. Unacceptable. The others thought him admirable and selfless, working so hard to bring Komaeda back. Hajime knows better. 

He also knows better than to be booting up the system, in the workshop alone. The margin of error is negotiable. He can say that he is doing this for the children, if anyone asks, but it isn’t like anyone really questions him anymore, anyway. The truth is that Hajime is angry, frustrated, and a little bit- maybe a tiny bit- lonely. 

He wants to see Komaeda. This seems like the most logical solution. 

Hajime settles into the dive chair and hits the green button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous use of Shakespeare, Sparknotes version
> 
>  **Condemn it as improbable fiction** \- a line spoken by Fabian, a servant in "Twelfth Night." It was originally meant to explain that truth is sometimes stranger than fiction, as some things that are true would be considered unlikely in the context of a story or play. In this instance, Hajime uses it to call into question Komaeda's motives. His cheerful, helpful persona doesn't seem like a lie, but the reality is stranger than anyone guesses so far in the simulation. Komaeda's unpredictability is beyond normal comprehension, even for Hajime to an extent. The situation, also, in the simulation resolves itself so perfectly that Hajime distrusts it as much as Komaeda does. 
> 
> **Oh no, it is an ever-fixéd mark** \- a line from Sonnet 116: Love is not love/Which alters when it alteration finds/Or bends with the remover to remove/O, no! it is an ever-fixéd mark
> 
> Hajime is referring literally to the mark on the tie- the squiggle design on Komaeda's shirt in-game that he is using here as a 'brand' on his new shirt and on Hajime's new tie. While it's a subtle manipulation on Komaeda's part to get Hajime to dress down and look approachable to distance himself from the Kamakura parts of himself, it backfires a little because Hajime acknowledges that it is done out of love. The 'fixed' nature of Komaeda's love refers to the fact that Komaeda's love/attraction for Hajime lingered after the Despairing events and the Game revelations (his talentlessness and his status as a human experiment) as well as the events of the anime/real life. Komaeda isn't prepared to be taken seriously, so he is quite flustered- especially as he realizes that Hajime knows he's planning something, but isn't able or willing to give up his scheme despite his feelings. This is mostly why Hajime is so upset coming back to the ship and seeing that Komaeda lied.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *warning* explicit content with mildly dubious consent this chapter

~~  
DANGANI.EXE  
….  
LOADING PREVIOUS SAVE  
….  
ANOMALY LOG #11037C  
….

….  
COMPLETE  
…..  
STANDBY  
..…  
…..

“Goooood morning, everyone! Looks like today is gonna be another perfect, tropical day!”

~~

Hajime knocks on the door to Game Komaeda’s cottage and waits. After a minute or so, the door creaks open with surprising caution for someone initially so keen on being murdered. 

“Hinata-kun? What do I owe the pleasure?” Komaeda asks, blinking. He’s dressed, but his hair seems even messier than usual. 

“I was heading to breakfast.” 

“Yes…?” Komaeda prompts. Not without reason, after all. They always meet for breakfast and on this version of the island, no one has even died to make them wary of it. 

“Do you want to walk together?” Hajime asks. 

Komaeda stares. “Do… do _you_ want to walk together?” 

“Well, yeah,” Hajime shoves his hands into his pockets. “Why else would I be here?” 

“Why else, indeed.” Komaeda smiles faintly. “Well, then. I’d be honored.” He locks the door and steps outside, pulling his shoes on while leaning against the side of the building. 

“Good to see you’re locking your doors for once.” Hajime comments. 

“I do enjoy a certain level of privacy, though it is probably undeserved.” Komaeda replies, rather primly. 

“How mysterious,” Hajime turns his face toward the ocean to hide a small smirk. 

“Everyone has secrets, Hinata-kun.” Komaeda falls into step beside him. “Shall I trust some of my mine to you while we’re here?” His voice is gently teasing. 

“Two may keep counsel, putting one away.” Hajime says carelessly. 

Komaeda stops. “How morbid,” he says, looking at Hajime with a sudden deep and abiding interest, the same look Real Komaeda gives Hajime whenever he sees a new talent emerging for the first time. “I didn’t know you were such a fan of Shakespeare.” 

“Romeo and Juliet is required high school reading,” Hajime says stiffly. 

“I suppose that’s true.” They begin walking again. “Still, I was excited for a minute there! I thought maybe you were the Ultimate Literary Genius or something.” Komaeda beams. The sun is very warm. Was it always so warm? Hajime eyes Komaeda critically for signs of fever. If he isn’t mistaken, this will be the start of the Despair Disease Incident, and swift diagnosis and quarantine will be necessary for the countermeasures he intends. No one would be lost this time- not Mioda or Saionji, _certainly not_ Komaeda. 

“Hinata-kun?” Komaeda peers at him, concerned. “Are you alright? You seem to be sweating… like a lot.”

“Maybe I am,” Hajime says, not really hearing him. “Maybe I’m the Ultimate Literary Genius.” He shakes his head. The heat is really unbearable, after all. His shirt is sticking to his back already, on their short walk, despite the breeze coming in from the ocean. 

“Are you.” Komaeda seems distracted, looking at him closely. “I think we should hurry up and go inside.” 

Upstairs, Komaeda sets him in a chair and brings him a glass of ice-water. “Are you feeling okay?” He asks, hovering. 

“Isn’t that my line?” Hajime asks, starting to rise, but he finds that his limbs do not want to obey him properly. “I can’t get up,” he says with clear disbelief. 

“Tsumiki,” Komaeda calls. “I wish you’d come and take a look at Hinata-kun, please.” 

“O-Oh yes, o-of course, just a moment, Komaeda-kun, it’s just that Saionji is…” Tsumiki steps to the side. 

“Please, Mikan-neechan, I’ve told you to just call me Hiyoko.” Saionji sits in her chair, ladylike, and giggles, turning a sweet, warm, childlike smile toward the Ultimate Nurse. 

“What in the fuck,” Souda whispers, clearly horrified.

Hanamura gasps. “Swine! Do not use such _vuhl-gah_ language while there are ladies present.” Catching a glimpse of Owari squatting under the table, Hanamura clasps a hand over his eyes. “My lady, you are exposed-!” 

“Wha-?” Owari asks, mouth open as she chews her way through an entire plate of sausages. 

“Your _bosoms!_ I cannot work under these conditions!” 

Owari reaches up to poke at her chest curiously. “They ain’t bothering anybody.”

Hanamura straightens, looking her in the eye, finger pointing accusingly. “You put on a proper shirt this instant or no more meat for you.”

“Aw, man.” Owari tugs at her shirt, exposing even more skin, and Hanamura blushes red, averting his gaze. “I’m always runnin’ around and stuff, though…”

“Then _wear a sports bra, woman!_ ” Hanamura bellows and Saionji, startled by the noise, buries her face into Tsumiki’s side and bursts into tears. 

“Neechan, protect me!” Saionji hugs Tsumiki harder around the middle as she squeaks with surprise. 

“Puhuhuhu…” 

“Monokuma, what do you know about this?” Komaeda asks the room, and the bear pops out of a trapdoor in the floor. 

“Hmmm? What makes you think _I_ know anything?” He clasps his paws up together near his face and blinks languidly, the very picture of innocence. 

“Stupid Monokuma!” Usami drops from the ceiling, led outstretched into a fearsome kick that Monokuma handily dodges. “Don’t lie, you-you big liarbear!” 

“Just like a bratty little sister, exposing all your big bro’s secrets,” Monokuma says almost fondly, grabbing Usami by the ears and pulling till tears come to her eyes. “Ya got me!” He turns to the rest of them, expression growing sharp. “It’s called _the Despair Disease._.” 

Hajime shakes his head. The room is swirling, tilting wildly. He can’t concentrate. Monokuma’s words wash around him. Tiny insects. Contagious. Motive. Murder. The simulation ought to be following the prescribed temperature in the environment. Hajime can see the AC unit on the wall that proclaims the room a balmy 72 degrees through a haze. This must be an anomaly, but the system hasn’t logged it. Hajime tries think. 

This isn’t how it was supposed to be. 

~~  
PROGRESS LOGGED  
…...

…...  
EJECT PARAMETERS INITIATED  
…...  
…...

ERROR

…..  
…..  
CONTINUE? Y/N  
…..  
N  
…..

ERROR

…..  
…..  
CONTINUE? Y/N  
…..  
N  
…..

ERROR

…..  
CONTINUE? Y/N  
….  
Y  
….  
STANDBY  
…..  
…..

“Saionji has Gentle Disease, Hanamura has Modest Disease, and, of course, Hinata has caught Truth Disease!”

~~

So. Logging out is an exercise in futility. Hajime is, at least, cognizant enough to appreciate the irony. It is exactly this kind of situation that Souda had anticipated when setting dive protocol, and now Hajime is trapped, forcibly ill through the perception manipulation of the game’s programming. 

“We need to get them over to the hospital and into quarantine,” Komaeda says firmly once Monokuma has disappeared, pulling Hajime to his feet and maneuvering him down the stairs. There are a few more conversations, Komaeda’s voice a soothing noise that Hajime can’t focus on, like pleasant music coming in from another room. 

“You’re too skinny to carry me,” Hajime tells Komaeda flatly when they reach the stairs. Komaeda, nonplussed, begins plodding carefully down, Hajime in tow. 

“I’m surprisingly strong,” Komaeda replies mildly. “Of course I would understand if you would rather not be touched by someone so disgusting as myself…” 

“I don’t mind,” Hajime says, then clamps his jaw shut, looking away. 

“This is a bit refreshing, isn’t it?” Komaeda says to no one in particular when they reach the bottom. Hajime ignores it, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Komaeda has an arm around his waist and a guiding hand along Hajime’s arm flung round his shoulder, and he has to be drenched in Hajime’s virtual sweat, which is every bit as uncomfortable and unhygenic as the real thing, here. 

“Nidai and Tsumiki are taking the others up ahead,” Komaeda tells him when they stop to rest outside Jabberwock Park for a moment. “Everything will be settled when we arrive.” 

“You can’t stay in the hospital,” Hajime says. “It’s against the rules.” 

“You noticed the bulletin? Good eye, Hinata-kun! Everyone else is staying on the main island. They’ll be using the library to research the disease. Souda is working on a video communication uplink for later. Nidai and I will be staying in the Motel and assisting Tsumiki.”

“Why?” Hajime closes his eyes and leans back against the bench. The metal fastenings are cool against his fevered skin. 

“Turns out we both have some experience. Ah, I mean… with hospitals.” Komaeda smiles weakly. “Anyway, I shouldn’t worry. The Ultimate Nurse will be able to overcome any medical difficulty with a little hope. Perhaps only one or two of you will die in the meantime!” Hajime scowls. “Kidding,” Komaeda adds lightly. “But that would be the way of it, in the face of Ultimate Despair.” 

“I’m sorry that you’re under quarantine now,” Hajime says sincerely, letting Komaeda help him back up the path toward the third island. 

“I’m glad to be useful in any small and meaningless way that I can, of course, but I’m sure you would prefer better company. Nanami did volunteer, but it was against my conscience to allow such a talented Ultimate risk exposure.” Komaeda sounds genuinely regretful. 

“Mm,” Hajime makes a vague noise of agreement, focused on keeping himself upright and not leaning harder onto Komaeda than strictly necessary. 

“Hinata-kun?”

“Mm?” Hajime concentrates. Step left. Step right. If he falls, he doesn’t trust Komaeda to lift him again without assistance. 

“Did you get your memories back, from before?” Komaeda’s tone is so mild, so innocuous, that Hajime nods agreement, feels the little “Mm” leave his throat before he can stop himself. His eyes go wide then narrow accusingly. 

“I see.” Komaeda sounds entirely too pleased with himself. Hajime leans a bit more weight on him. “Ow. Not much further, Hinata-kun, if you could just-” Hajime goes nearly limp. “Understood! No more questions.” Hajime straightens up. “…For now, anyway.” Komaeda whistles a jaunty tune as they head down the track to the hospital. 

Komaeda gets him to the middle room before leaving to find Tsumiki. Hajime drops unceremoniously onto the bed, panting a little with the effort. The walk has exhausted him. His legs shake and the sudden coolness of the hospital AC sends a violent shiver down his spine. He reaches down to grab the edge of the fitted sheet and pull it up around himself over the naked mattress. He’s filthy, damp, miserable. Worst of all, the fever interferes with his thoughts. He can’t concentrate. It’s all Hajime can do to stay conscious. It is a feeling he would have welcomed, once, for the novelty, but in his current predicament it is an unacceptable hindrance. It seems like only a moment later when the door swings open, but he must have been dozing off. Komaeda has had time to change into spare hospital scrubs, a washed-out grey, and is pulling a cart piled with various things. 

“Hinata-kun,” he says, voice full of sympathy, stopping in the doorway. “You’ve made a mess.” Hajime glares at him from the sheet cocoon. Komaeda closes and locks the door behind him. “Up,” Komaeda says cheerfully, pulling Hajime back to his feet and leaning him against the wall. Hajime clings to the sheet stubbornly, watching as Komaeda quickly wipes down the dirt tracks left by Hajime’s shoes on the bare mattress. He remakes the bed with fresh sheets, adding a second pillow and a knit blanket. He tucks the edges around, leaving one corner pulled up appealingly. 

“Why?” Hajime mumbles as Komaeda takes the sweat-soaked sheet from him and places it under the cart in the hamper for dirty linens. He tilts his head back against the wall, face up toward the ceiling. 

“Three of us and three of you. I apologize for not being Tsumiki, but Saionji is rather inconsolable without her right now.” 

“Is she screaming?” Hajime closes his eyes as he feels Komaeda calmly loosening his tie, undoing his shirt buttons one-by-one. 

“Worse. She’s sniffling into a teddy bear. I’m a little worried Tsumiki might have a heart attack and then we’ll really be in trouble.” Komaeda reaches for his pants and Hajime keeps his eyes closed and his breathing shallow, batting at Komaeda’s hands weakly. 

“I can’t do this by myself. I’m sick, so I need you to help me,” he ends up saying in a low, frustrated voice, even though he meant the opposite. 

“Be good,” Komaeda chides in a low voice, already working the zipper, and _that’s_ certainly not helping the situation. Komaeda tugs and the cloth slides down. Hajime hears Komaeda turn a little, rummaging around on the cart. Plastic rustling, and then a cool, damp cloth is pressed against the side of his neck. He hisses a little at the contact, eyes opening, dazed. Komaeda is so close that Hajime can feel him, the slight warmth of another living person, the brush of his hands through the cloth. 

“You’re pretty cute like this, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda continues conversationally, moving the bathing wipe across his skin gently- over and under his arms and sides. Hajime’s pants are around his ankles; if he moves wrong, he’ll fall. He has to stay perfectly still as Komaeda leans over him, dragging the cloth up his back in long strokes, their faces too close together. Komaeda’s hair falls across his cheek. Hajime looks away, even though it’s his loss. 

“You look like a corpse in that color,” he says sourly. Komaeda laughs softly. The cloth moves briskly over the small of his back and ass, perfunctory but effective. It is almost enough to convince Hajime that Komaeda has done playing with him for now. That Komaeda might actually behave. 

“I’m aware of how repugnant you find me,” Komaeda says, amused, sliding the cloth to the front of Hajime’s thighs. Inner thighs. 

“I can do the rest,” Hajime says weakly, absurdly relieved that that seems to be true. 

“Oh of course, Hinata-kun.” Komaeda leans back several inches and it’s all Hajime can do not to go boneless with relief. He’s smiling so sweetly that his eyes are closed and that… that is a very bad sign. Hajime puts the flat of one palm against the wall to steady himself and reaches out for the cloth with his other hand, but Komaeda moves it easily out of the way. 

“I just need you to say it clearly, okay? Tell me what you want. I’m a bit stupid, so I need things spelled out for me sometimes. Luck is barely a talent, after all.” 

“Komaeda.” Hajime shivers again. This time, it’s not from the AC. 

Komaeda waggles the cloth just out of reach, answering in a sing-song manner. “Just say ‘Komaeda, you’re gross. I don’t want you to touch me.’” 

The room is spinning. Hajime wants to lie down.

“It’s really easy, Hinata-kun.” Hajime makes a small aborted gesture- reaching out, or shaking him off, or- something- and nearly falls. Komaeda holds him up easily with his free hand, bare palm flat against Hajime’s stomach. One finger idly traces his navel. 

“Komaeda. You should-” 

“Beep beep.” Komaeda shakes his head. “Not what I was asking. I don’t really care about things like _should_ or _shouldn’t._ ”

The pressure on his stomach increases a little, and while it may be an attempt at intimidation, Hajime finds it oddly comforting. Komaeda will not let him fall. Komaeda is keeping him where he is. 

“Hey, Hinata-kun? You know, the first time, I thought that might be a coincidence. For someone as dull and shortsighted as myself, an Ultimate like you would surely be able to circumvent my planning. Or perhaps my luck was on a downswing just then. Was that it? Did you make a lucky guess?” 

Hajime grits his teeth and shakes his head no. “Stop asking me questions,” he manages to choke, faintly. 

“I see, I see.” Komaeda’s voice is very soothing. “I’m sorry. It’s unforgivably rude of me, when I know you can’t lie. But I can’t help being curious. Call it a personal failing.” His thumb rubs short soothing circles into Hajime’s skin. “You must have already known what I was planning during the party… the same way you knew what would happen when Kuzuryuu beat that game.” Komaeda’s finger presses into the depression of Hajime’s navel gently. He strokes into it once, twice. The gesture is both gentle and obscene. “Right, Hinata-kun?”

Hajime nods, keeping his mouth shut. He isn’t sure what he’ll say if he chances it again. Something truthful and horrifying and humiliating. 

“Is something bad going to happen here?” Komaeda asks. He shifts so that his hand stays on Hajime’s center, but now the fingers are pointing downward, elbow up and pressed along Hajime’s side. It brings their faces closer together. “Is that why you were asking after me?” Komaeda is close enough to kiss and Hajime’s breath catches in his throat. He opens his mouth to breathe. 

“You’re supposed to be sick,” Hajime gasps, furious with himself. “Not me.”

“Hm. I imagine that must be very frustrating for you.” Komaeda tilts his head to the side, breath against Hajime’s ear. “Hey, Hinata-kun?” 

Hajime stares past him, at the blank wall. 

“Hinata-kun, did you know that you’re hard?” Komaeda licks his earlobe and Hajime shudders. He nearly falls again but this time he catches himself on Komaeda, grasping at the hand pinning him to the wall.

“Please,” Hajime says. He’s so sick. He can’t _think._

“It’s disgusting, right? So say that you hate it.” The hand slips down along the trail of fine hair, stopping just short- just shy. “’Komaeda, you’re vile. Please stop. I don’t like this. I don’t want you. You’re horrible-’”

“You _are_ horrible,” Hajime groans, knees almost giving. “I want you to touch me,” he begs. 

Komaeda, small half smile on his face, drops the pretense. He grips Hajime’s erection in the soft cleaning cloth and strokes, hard. Hajime’s knees buckle but Komaeda really is stronger than he looks because Hajime stays up, though his face is against Komaeda’s shoulder now. Komaeda jerks him in a steady, methodical way, without hesitation. Hajime opens his mouth to gasp a soft _yes please yes_ only it doesn’t stop there because he’s sick and he wants to lay down and he wants to come and there’s something wrong with Tsumiki and he can’t stop saying _Komaeda don’t die please don’t die_ when he comes, rutting mindlessly into Komaeda’s fist. 

Komaeda has to use another cleaning cloth on him, after. Hajime leans against him, dizzily. He obediently lifts his arms for the hospital gown and lets Komaeda coax him into a clean pair of briefs, ferried over from his cottage. Komaeda puts him to bed and tucks him into the blankets. He sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for Hajime’s wheezing breaths to calm, stroking his short hair. 

“Hinata-kun?” He says after a long time. “Tell me you that you hate me. It will make things easier on me.” Hajime shakes his head, averting his eyes. “So soft hearted.” Komaeda sighs. “I always believed that despair is necessary to make the light of hope even brighter. But if all my planning and all luck and Monokuma too wasn’t enough to make us turn on each other up to now, doesn’t that mean hope is already here? And if that’s the case…” Komaeda trails off. It’s important, what he’s saying, maybe, but Hajime’s fever is spiking and the pillow is so wonderfully cold. 

“I don’t hate you,” Hajime says belatedly, like it’s suddenly very important to say. Komaeda makes an agreeable noise. “ _You_ hate me.” 

“Do I?” Komaeda asks faintly. “That doesn’t seem true.” 

“You just don’t know it yet.” Hajime says, exhausted. 

“Why do I hate you, Hinata-kun?” 

“Because.” He blinks drowsily. “I don’t have any talent. I’m a reserve course student.” 

“Ah,” Komaeda says. Those hands are still stroking through his hair so kindly. How unfair. “I thought it might be something like that.” 

“I want you to kiss me,” Hinata slurs. 

“I won’t.” 

“Because you don’t want me.” Hajime’s eyes are closed. Komaeda’s hands move away. 

“Because I want you, I won’t,” he says, as Hajime loses consciousness. 

When Hajime wakes, it’s to the body discovery announcement. 

It might be some lingering effects of the Despair Disease, but everything is very dream-like for him, after. He dresses and walks to the Titty Typhoon, looks at Saionji’s tiny body strung up like the angel on top of a Christmas tree, at the blood trail leading to the trap door beneath the stage leading to Komaeda’s mutilated corpse. She’s taken out his organs so precisely, it’s as though she wants to be caught. Who else has that much knowledge about the human body? 

Besides Hajime, of course. 

They are lined up in empty jars that used to contain gummy vitamins. Heart. Kidneys. Eyes. The liver she draped across a chipped pink and gold china plate. A child’s tea party set is carefully staged on the blood soaked white and blue lace blanket, all around. 

“Saionji died from hanging,” Tsumiki lies. “She choked to death slowly and she cried.” 

Saionji died instantly, from a broken neck. Painlessly. 

“They were trapped. Komaeda killed Saionji quickly,” Hajime says at the trial. “To keep you from torturing her.” 

Tsumiki smiles. “I was angry at first,” she explains. “I had such plans. But he lasted such a _long_ time… so it was worth it.” Her smile grows into a mad grin, her hands coming up to tear at her hair, ripping out long strands. “Lucky lucky. She would be so pleased with me,” Tsumiki purrs, happy before she dies. 

~~ 

EJECTION PARAMETERS INITIATED  
……  
…...  
STANDBY  
…..  
PROGRESS LOGGED  
…...  
<077B RECONFIGURATION SUCCESSFUL>  
…...  
ANOMA^X(5?!:*LLLOGDDDD  
…...  
USER ERROR  
…..  
PROGRESS SAVED  
…..  
…..  
STANDBY FOR REINTEGRATION SEQUENCE  
….. 

~~ 

The Chibi-P is overheating, room sweltering. Hajime sticks to the chair with his sweat; he peels off his shirt and it gets stuck halfway. Something sticks out of the back of his neck so he pulls it free with a low grunt, tossing the needle to the side, blood flicking free against the wall in a perfect arc. He has enough presence of mind to hit the emergency cooldown button on the main controls. When he reaches over, something holds him back so he pulls harder and there is pressure on his wrist before he tears free. Blood drips across the keyboard when he types in precise, automatic strokes. The machines frantic beeping slows and stops. The fans whir. The lights go red to green. 

He realizes, vaguely, that he is still holding his shirt at some point when he’s walking so he drops it, halfway down the corridor. It hits the ground with a wet, heavy sound. He had gone to see Komaeda and Komaeda had died. He is outside of Komaeda’s room and he knocks on the door. No one answers. Is Komaeda dead again? He keeps doing that. Hajime wishes he wouldn’t. It’s a lot of work, bringing him back again and again and again and again and again and again andagainagainagainagain- 

“Hinata-kun?” 

Hajime looks up slowly. 

How long has he been standing here, hammering his fist against the door? It is very slick. Down the hall, one or two doors have cracked open but when he moves, they close quickly, metallic thuds. 

Komaeda, still in his suit, a little crumpled and tired, stands just down the hallway. He’s just come back, from out in the world, and he holds his white jacket in both hands. His expression shifts- _curiosity guilt concern_. He comes closer, movements steady and methodical. Hajime breathes very heavily. 

“You’re still bleeding,” Komaeda says, reaching out to take Hajime’s left wrist in his hands. The jacket brushes against the door, soaking up the red. Komaeda’s hair is tied back with Mioda’s black elastic, one with a silver skull. 

It snaps. 

Hajime, and everything. 

It’s fine. 

This is Komaeda. 

Komaeda isn’t real. 

Hajime slams Komaeda against the door so hard that it jumps in the frame, despite the metal supports. Komaeda drops the ruined jacket, clutching at Hajime’s shoulders as he struggles to breathe. 

“Your... neck…” is all he manages to gasp, his fingers coming into contact with the wound on the back of Hajime's head. Komaeda's feet slide in the mess on the floor and he nearly topples over but Hajime pins him in place, flat of his hand against Komaeda’s middle. 

Familiar. 

Hadn’t he been open, here? Parts neatly lined up, side by side. Such wonderful cuts. The pink shine of healthy tissue. 

Hajime tears open Komaeda’s shirt, heedless of the buttons that scatter across the hall. The seams rip, a little. Komaeda’s chest is pale, thin, intact. It moves when he breathes. How boring. Hajime shakes his head. 

“Don’t-” Komaeda says, reaching up to staunch the blood running down Hajime’s neck so Hajime leans in, pressing skin to skin, running his nails up Komaeda’s back, bunching the cloth, tearing in both hands. Hajime holds him up, left hand against his stomach and Komaeda clutches at it, at where he is bleeding out from perforated veins, and Hajime unbuttons Komaeda's pants.

Komaeda is hard. 

Distantly, Hajime registers that Komaeda is talking, a low litany of _yes, please, please, yes_ that Hajime knows, deep down knows, is for his benefit, so that tomorrow when this wears off and he is himself again he won’t throw himself off the fucking boat for what he’s doing to- 

Someone who- 

Someone he- 

The angle is awkward and his grip too-tight and too fast but Komaeda raises his hips, fucking into Hajime’s hand and moaning and sobbing _Hinata-kun Hinata-kun_ and everyone has to be listening, doors cracked open, wide eyes watching- Komaeda is so loud and so close; his pupils blown, his temperature elevated slightly, the pulse of his cock in Hajime’s hold. Hajime slides his other hand up from Komaeda’s torso in one smooth motion, closing it around Komaeda’s throat. Hajime leans against him, forehead to forehead, and watches him choke and fall apart, spilling all over the both of them, wondering if Komaeda is looking at the green eye or the red one. 

He lets go all at once. No permanent damage done. Windpipe intact, external injuries superficial. 

External. Injuries. 

“Hinata-kun?” Komaeda’s voice is low, as if speaking to a frightened dog. His throat is an angry red. It will bruise. Hajime is shaking. He’s not even hard, he’s just cold. He takes a step back, onto the jacket the Komaeda dropped. It’s ruined. 

“Hinata-kun?” 

His blood pools on the floor and Komaeda is smeared in it, in blood and cum and sweat and mess. His shirt is torn in a half dozen places, hanging off his shoulders, pants loose and open around his thighs. 

“Hey, Hajime?” Hajime does look up, a little at that. Komaeda has a half smile that he doesn’t completely understand. Slowly, Komaeda reaches up to stroke along his jawline once before tilting Hajime's face up. Hajime lets him take control of the kiss, slow, sweet, deliberate. A perfect first kiss, in the middle of hell. 

Komaeda takes his uninjured hand and guides him to the bathroom. It’s tiny, hardly large enough for one grown man, let alone two, but Komaeda is thin and Hajime is very still, moving placidly where he is guided and staying still until moved again. Komaeda soaps him up so gently, hands moving over his skin, the torn places in his neck and arm so carefully and kindly that Hajime is glad for the shower spray, at just the right height to cover the tears stinging his eyes. Komaeda bandages the wounds carefully and Hajime sits through that in a towel. His eyes are fixed on the shower stall, where a single drop of red blood remains against the glass, visible from the opposite side. 

When they go back outside, Komaeda takes Hajime the long way around the loop, avoiding the horrorshow hallway, heading to Hajime’s cabin. He tucks Hajime into bed against the wall before sliding into the too-small bed, close enough to share the single flat pillow. He pets Hajime’s hair, careful to avoid the large bandages. 

“I burn, I pine, I perish.” Komaeda murmurs into his shoulder. 

Hajime sleeps. 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous use of Shakespeare, Sparknotes version
> 
>  **Two may keep counsel, putting one away** \- Nurse says this to Romeo in "Romeo and Juliet" when asking if his friend can be trusted with the secret of their love affair. It morbidly implies that keeping secrets only works when one is "put away" or killed afterward. Hajime uses this quote to imply that Komaeda would confide secrets in him if planning to kill him later in a morbid joke. 
> 
> **I burn, I pine, I perish** \- Lucentio says this in "Taming of the Shrew," a character that uses trickery and deceit to earn innocent Bianca's love. Komaeda uses the quote to reaffirm his feelings toward Hajime and to let him know that any rough treatment is deserved and even welcome if it keeps them closer together. It's also, like a lot of things with Komaeda, a thinly veiled plea for death. Lol. 
> 
>  
> 
> .... never thought I'd write an interrogation handjob scene but here we are, I guess.


	5. Chapter 5

Hajime blinks drolly at the sunlight streaming in. It’s late into the day- far too late into the day. He makes to sit up but a hand keeps him down flat against the bed. 

“Slowly,” Komaeda instructs. Their eyes meet. 

Komaeda sits on the edge of the bed, fully dressed. He wears a casual t-shirt and loose fitting jeans and a ring of bruises around his neck so vividly colorful they might as well be painted on. 

“Don’t,” Komaeda says, voice kindly, when Hajime opens his mouth to apologize. 

Fair enough, he supposes. Any apology at this point would be summarily accepted with zero consideration, a social nicety solely for his own benefit. Komaeda’s half smile gives an eloquent speech- I don’t mind but you do, and I like that. 

Hajime sits up slowly, blankets falling off his bare chest to pool in his lap. Of course he’s barely dressed. Of course Komaeda has every advantage in this conversation. He wonders, not for the first time, just how much of Komaeda’s luck is really luck- and how much is subtle manipulation of the odds in his favor. 

“What time is it?” He manages to say, ignoring the creak in his back. He must have been down for _ages._ “Why didn’t anyone wake me?” 

“After last night? Who would. Don’t worry,” Komaeda says, either misreading his expression or wanting to give him something new to worry about. “I cleaned up the hallway.” He hums a little. “You must have been there a while. So much blood…”

“Where did you go last night?” Hajime asks abruptly, already knowing it’s a bad idea. 

Komaeda gives an offhanded little laugh. “I did think I would be back before you finished up, but my luck being what it is…” 

“Doing what.” Hajime stares him down and Komaeda shifts subtly in place. 

“Nothing important. Are you angry that I disobeyed orders? You can punish me, if you like.” Komaeda reaches out one casual hand to lay on Hajime’s arm and Hajime pulls back. “Mm,” he says, his voice knowing and sad in a way it has no right to be. “I was afraid it might be like that now.” His expression is placid, though, and he looks so martyred and pitiable that Hajime can barely stand to look at him. 

“Conscience doth make cowards of us all,” Hajime says evenly. 

Komaeda inhales sharply. “I see pillow talk isn’t one of your talents. A pity.” 

“Don’t,” Hajime warns this time. “Don’t use this to try and embarrass or guilt me into silence. It won’t work.” 

“Mend speech a little, lest it mar your fortunes?” Komaeda mocks and Hajime frowns. “My inconsequential actions could not possibly be enough to draw the interest of the Ultimate Hope, whose attentions are already divided between a ruined city and malfunctioning medical equipment.” 

“It does and it did.” 

A pause. 

“I don’t know what you want from me, Hinata-kun.” Komaeda smiles. “You shouldn’t be wasting energy thinking of someone like me, just as you shouldn’t give any weight to anything I ever say. Just ignore me! I am falser than vows made in wine.” So lightly self-effacing. Such casual denigration. Hajime is used to this, from him, and yet it rubs raw, an easy out for a difficult conversation. 

“This isn’t that. Love, I mean.” Hajime reaches up to tug at the bandages around his head. They’re well placed, despite Komaeda’s prosthetic and the inherent difficulty with those kinds of intricate tasks. 

“Isn’t it?” Komaeda flexes his robotic hand. “Come, bid me do anything for thee.” His voice is light and playful. 

“It’s fine, Komaeda. You can quit pretending that you’re in love with me.” 

“Pretending?” Komaeda echoes. He is no longer smiling. 

“You say anything? You won’t even tell me a straight answer. You’re always acting alone and you never show your hand. This is no different. It comes down to trust. You don’t trust me to even hear your plans. To you, I am someone incapable of understanding. Keeping me at arms length while you shoulder the burden of whatever you think is necessary... _Prove false by being once false for ever to to be true._ That’s not love. That’s not even like.” 

By the end of his explanation, Komaeda is on his feet. He paces the floor by the foot of the bed, running a hand through his hair in jerky little motions. Hajime slips out of bed gingerly. He’s only in his boxers, but that doesn’t matter. He needs to be standing for this. Komaeda mutters, low to himself, and Hajime has to come close to make out the words- 

“-isn’t what I meant… of course I love you, you’re our hope- _my_ hope, I’m- my devotion- it isn’t the same, so stop talking like this-” his eyes are starting to look a little hollow, when his face turns toward Hajime, pleading. 

“Like what?” 

“Like we’re equals, in some kind of… understanding!” Komaeda bursts, digging both hands into his hair to the scalp and tugging painfully.

“Then what is this?” Hajime’s voice raises, his arms out, gesturing to the bed, to Komaeda, to himself. “What the hell are we doing?” 

“Service, from a servant- I serve you, I worship you - your light- the hope you bring that keeps the despair at bay, it’s illuminating, powerful, omnipresent-!” Komaeda’s words come faster and louder. 

“I’m not!” Hajime yells back, feeling vaguely ill at the fanatical gleam in Komaeda’s eyes. “I’m not any of that, _stop looking at me like that!_ ” He grabs Komaeda by the shoulders and barely resists the urge to shake him. The contact is enough to make Komaeda focus, his eyes zeroing in on Hajime properly. He breathes in and out a few times before continuing, in a lower tone.

“I can’t involve you in my meaningless endeavors. It would be... unseemly. I’m not worthy to breathe your air and that you allow it at all is a blessing-”

“Why does it have to be like this?” Hajime asks. His grip loosens. He can feel the softness of Komaeda’s shirt, the firm muscle and bone beneath. He strokes along the sides of Komaeda’s arms gently, eliciting a small shiver from the oversensitive, overwrought man. “Can’t we… can’t you… change true rules for odd inventions?” 

Komaeda looks away, pensive. When he turns back, he’s trying to smile and failing badly. It flickers in and out like a dying bulb. “Let me be that I am and seek not to alter me.” 

A beat. 

Hajime nods, removing his hands. “I see. I apologize.” 

“I don’t want you to apologize.” Komaeda protests, not moving away. “That will distress me.” 

“You have no reason; I do it freely.” Komaeda flinches. “Last night and this morning… it was a miscalculation on my part. Unusual, but not unprecedented. I am sorry for it.” 

“Miscalculation,” Komaeda echoes again, sounding disturbed. “Reserve course Hinata. Ultimate Hope Hinata.” 

“I’m a man, Komaeda.” Hajime touches Komaeda’s hair, wild and without a semblance of order. His touch is gentle though he feels, deeply, a darkness- a viciousness. “Just a disappointing man, foolish enough to believe that you loved me- powerless, talentless, fruitless me. I had forgotten that you don’t have _anyone_ to love… least of all me. ” 

Komaeda jerks away from him suddenly, taking an uneven step back toward the door. “Fuck you,” he says with quiet venom, and he leaves. 

~~

Hajime dresses and walks through the echoing, empty hallways of the ship. The area outside Komaeda’s door, the halls, the Chibi-P dock, all are scrubbed clean and shining. Upstairs, from on deck, he looks down at the docks, where Hanamura’s food distribution system is in full swing. The adults are queued up all along the sides, looking calm and sedate. The Future Foundation has no jurisdiction here, not after the Towas and the Warriors of Hope. This is one of the few places where their presence and their efforts might do more good than ill, for once. Nevermind that it was one of them that enabled the games in the first place… but then he is trying not to think of Komaeda, for now, so he focuses elsewhere. 

Hanamura is too busy to do much more than grunt at Hajime, kicking over a small packed cooler when he passes by. He’s sweaty but seems happy- happy to see him, happy to be cooking, happy to be helping people. Hajime picks the cooler up; inside are sandwiches, waters, and some vials of unbearably sweet tea. He needs it for his blood sugar and so drinks those down quickly. The line, he notes, moves steadily. The adults seem relaxed. Still, he makes sure to set the safety parameters on the ship’s main entry points before continuing into the city. Owari and Nidai are absent; they should be returning soon from the delivery run to the makeshift children’s homes in the inner city area to help Hanamura with prep for the dinner rush. It was best, they felt, to keep the groups separated for as long as possible. 

Toko Fukawa loiters where the docks meet the cityside boardwalk. “How were the repairs?” He asks, as she falls into step beside him. 

“Extensive, I guess. That guy worked basically all night. He’s fixing up Komaru’s gun now- he thinks he can probably make another two or three with the parts he’s got, as back ups. Towa Tower still spits Monobears out on the reg from one underground bunker or another.” She makes a disgusted face. 

“I have a team working on that,” Hajime promises, making a note to check back in with Kuzuryu and Pekoyama’s progress later. “Anything else of note?”

Toko’s disgust deepens. “No,” she says sullenly. 

“You object to her interest in Souda,” he surmises. 

“You sound like such a weirdo.” Toko rolls her eyes. “And no, I ain’t exactly thrilled, but I’m a _serial killer_ so what right do I have to say anything about who she wants to date?” Hajime nods. “He could at least act a little happy about it, though, she’s not ugly or anything.” 

“It’s probably something more than that,” Hajime says, though he doesn’t know himself what it might be. Toko’s eyebrows quirk at him skeptically. 

“Is that creepy pretty boy going to show up? He owes us a hell of an apology.” Toko changes the subject. 

“I don’t know,” Hajime admits. 

“You don’t _know._ ” Toko stops. 

“I don’t know where he is or what he is doing or what he plans to do later.” 

“Huh.” Toko shakes her head. “Sounds like some things never change.” 

“They do not,” Hajime agrees, feeling a bit melancholy. 

They find Souda and Komaru testing out the guns on a few tame Monkuma-bots, neutered of their weaponry. They cheerfully clear rubble from the streets, pausing to dance or move to the side or even to catch briefly on fire from time to time as the users flip through their ammo slots. When Souda lands a particularly good shot through the eye of one target, Komaru bumps his arm and smiles. He almost smiles back, but then looks away. 

“I brought breakfast,” Hajime says, handing him the bag as a peace offering. “Maybe lunch, by now.” Souda’s smile is wretched as he looks inside the bag. 

“I love breakfast! It’s my favorite meal. I always wake up suuuper hungry,” Komaru grins. 

“I know,” Souda says, under his breath. Toko’s eyes flit between them. 

“I guess that’s pretty normal, huh?” Komaru laughs, self-consciously. 

“Large breakfast. Small lunch. Standard dinner. Slight allergy to mango.” Souda hands her a sandwich and a bottle of water. He takes a deep breath, steels himself. “Sorry it’s not Japanese-style.” 

“Oh, that’s alright, I-” She stops. Looks up at him. Her eyes, in that moment, do look so very much like her brother’s. “Huh?” 

“I know all about that,” Souda says gently. “I know all about you, Komaru Naegi. Who do you think was keeping you locked up for a year and a half?” 

“T-the Despairs.” Toko puts a hand on Komaru’s shoulder. 

“The Despairs,” Souda confirms. “Not all of us at once, y’know, not every day, but we took turns. I know everything about you and all you need to know about me is that I’m one of… those. I hurt you and I took you away, and I did all of this. So.” He nods, looking off into the distance. 

“I…. see. Please excuse me,” Komaru whispers, suddenly formal. She runs. Toko follows. 

Silence. 

“I thought you were girl crazy,” Hajime admits. “I didn’t understand.” 

“Sonia and our girls, that’s. That’s different, you know? We’re all…. monsters. We all belong together, one way or another, but that kid-” Souda shakes his head and the sandwich in his hand trembles. 

“Go back to the ship,” Hajime says kindly. “I can do this today. Go back and get some sleep.” 

Souda nods and heads back to the dock. Hajime rolls up his sleeves. 

After a while the girls return, a little pale but no worse for wear. Hajime coaches them on using the Hacking Gun for reconstructive purposes. By the time he needs to make rounds, Komaru is smiling again, lecturing Toko on properly aiming her newly cobbled together megaphone. 

“Both eyes open, Toko!” she calls across the clearing. Hajime dusts the dirt from the knees of his pants as he rises. 

“Hey.” She turns to him, uncertainty in her big green eyes. “About Souda. Um.” Hajime studies her. “Can you tell him I said… I said I’ll see him tomorrow?” 

“Sure,” he agrees. 

~~

Owari and Nidai pass Hajime on the way back to the dock, rebounding off of buildings and knocking over two street signs before giving him simultaneous high-fives and obnoxious winks. Hajime rights the signs with a sigh before continuing on his way. Pekoyama and Kuzuryu have begun screening for the new organized police force, an irony that Kuzuryu is rather sore about so Hajime just peeks in a moment before heading to the next checkpoint. Sonia and Tanaka’s animal pens are mostly assembled at this point, and populated so far with two skinny kittens and an ancient cocker spaniel. Sonia is quite as usual, though Tanaka keeps his blushing face mostly hidden behind his scarf in his presence, Hajime notes. He ignores the awkwardness and promises to send them Hanamura’s scraps in the morning. 

In the center of town, near the old abandoned toy store, Mioda, Saionji and Koizumi are setting up for a makeshift festival for the kids. It’s nothing fancy- a few game booths, a stall with salvaged snacks and a large center stage strung with outdoor Christmas lights. It’s supposed to be the carrot, the reward at the end of the Chibi-P. He really needs to do something about that as soon as possible- dead Komaeda or no. Mioda waves and turns back to where she’s finagling a speaker into a tripod several times too big for the model. Koizumi takes one look at him, flushes red, and fairly scrambles to get backstage. Hajime stands out front speechless, his hands shoved in his pockets awkwardly. 

“Mahiru’s a delicate maiden at heart, so don’t take it personally.” Saionji pipes up at his elbow. She’s half-grinning, half-sneering. “After last night’s little peepshow any _normal_ person would think you’re pretty disgusting, you know.” 

“I should apologize for offending her.” Hajime decides. 

“Dumb! Dumb and dense.” Saionji shakes her head. 

“Is it…” Hajime hesitates. “Is it a…. girl thing…?”

Saionji looks at him very closely. Whatever she sees decides her. “No,” she explains evenly. “It’s a _you_ thing. She’s just confused. We all want to know why it had to be that freak.” 

“I don’t…”

“C’mon, dumbass! You’re smarter than that. I know you are.” Saionji bursts, turning her back on him. “I mean you saved us, right? Not just from being dead, but from being… what we were. Like we were. You un-Enoshima-ed us. Any one of us would have been with you in a heartbeat. I mean, Bonnie and Clyde would have made you share or whatever, but still- you could have anyone, really, and you’d rather get robo-fisted by the resident psycho.”

“He just- he was always _there_ I didn’t have much of a choice -” Hajime sputters, feeling his face warm. 

“Bullshit.” Saionji turns back to stare him down. “Life’s like dance. Everything is a choice. Every word, every movement, every expression. Bullshit.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hajime says helplessly. “What do you want me to do?” 

“Man up, you wussy little fuck.” Saionji sniffs. “Make up with your stupid zombie boyfriend and get back to jerkin’ it to hope or whatever. Like I give a shit.” 

“Okay. Um. Thanks. For that.” Hajime replies, bewildered. “Mioda,” he turns, a little desperate. “Let me adjust the base or that speaker is going to fall off mid-show.” She steps back obediently as Hajime fiddles with the tripod and Saionji huffs her way backstage to comfort Koizumi, presumably. 

“Ibuki _would_ sleep with Hajime-chan, if strictly necessary,” Mioda confides in him. “But her heart lies elsewhere. Let’s stay bandmates instead!” 

“Right,” Hajime says flatly, sliding the speaker into place with an audible click. “Excellent clarification. Totally necessary.” 

Mioda beams. 

~~

Tsumiki and Imposter are in the clinic, cleaning up after a busy day. Hajime flips idly through some of their patient notes as they restock. 

“Mostly superficial injuries,” Tsumiki explains. “B-Breaks that healed incorrectly, that sort of thing.” 

“Quite a few cases of bacterial infections.” Imposter notes, shedding his Ultimate Pharmacist disguise. “Malnutrition. Some mild radiation sickness- there might be a leak coming from one of the factories.” 

“I’ll have Kuzuryu on it,” Hajime promises. 

“How are your injuries, Hinata-san?” Tsumiki asks quietly. 

“My-” his hands move of their own volition, going to his wrist and the back of his neck. 

“I borrowed Souda’s likeness for a bit this morning. I was able to finish converting one of the pods to adult neural link. There is no need for you to use direct intravenous feed anymore. The children won’t be.” 

They are both staring at him very hard now. Hajime realizes suddenly that it is _concern._ Slowly, Imposter opens a drawer and sets two items on the counter. Tsumiki pushes them toward Hajime with a smile. 

“We distributed quite a few of these, too. You can never be too safe! H-Here, for you.” 

Condoms and lube. 

Hajime closes his eyes. He tries to count to ten. 

“O-Oh, do you think he doesn’t like them?” Tsumiki whispers not at all quietly. 

“Hm. We do have ribbed, perhaps-?”

Hajime quickly grabs the items off the table. “Thank you,” he grits out between his teeth, trying to end this conversation as soon as possible. “But actually, I came to ask a favor.” 

“You want us to monitor you when you go under tonight, is that right?” Tsumiki asks kindly. 

“Please.” Hajime exhales gratefully. 

“O-of course! Let’s just-” 

Tsumiki stands a little too eagerly and the momentum flips the cheap stool forward so that it knocks against her backside, shoving her forward. Imposter reached out to catch her but doesn’t get a proper grip- instead, her shirt buttons snap off, careening around the room. While Hajime avoids them handily, his luck ensuring a wide area of safety, one does manage to ping Imposter in the nose hard enough that he ends up on the floor. Hajime leans forward to help them up. 

Komaeda opens the door. He eyes Imposter, on all fours on the ground, right hand pinning Tsumiki down, her frilly bra peeking through her open shirt, apron shoved roughly to the side by his left. Tsumiki’s legs are sprawled, her skirt hiked up. Hajime leans over her, one arm outstretched. The other hand clutches condoms and lubricant. 

Komaeda gives Hajime a scathing look before turning on his heel. 

“It- it’s not what it looks like,” Hajime says to his back, perfectly aware of how utterly droll this comedy of errors has become. And yet he still says it. He still wants Komaeda to know it. 

Tsumiki sniffles then wails. “I wasn’t even _trying_ that time,” she insists. Imposter, unperturbed, helps her up and smooths her skirt back in place. 

Komaeda looks back over his shoulder at Hajime who is still, for some godforsaken reason, holding the incriminating items. He hastily puts them on the examination table. 

“They’re not- I wasn’t going to use those,” Hajime insists. 

Komaeda walks to the table and picks them up, looking them over calmly. “….ever?” he asks Hajime evenly, without looking up. Hajime coughs, feeling himself flush. 

“C-can I help you, Komaeda-san?” Tsumiki asks, getting herself together. 

“No… or, rather, it’s me who can help you. You’ve got a lot of work to do before tomorrow, don’t you? I came to offer my pathetic attempt at assistance.” 

“Well….” Tsumiki and Imposter glance around the room, still clearly messy and in need of restocking. “But we were going to m-monitor Hinata-san for another psychodive run.” 

“Oh.” Komaeda resolutely keeps his attention fixed on her. “That’s lucky, then, isn’t it?” Tsumiki tilts her head to the side, confused. “I mean here we have someone who was utterly useless today- too busy sulking and slinking _around the ship_ to do any real good. Even such a worthless person can take over such a mindless task, if well-rested. Ultimates like yourself should concentrate on what you do best.” 

Hajime keeps his face neutral during Komaeda’s passive aggressive speech, though a small part of him is tempted to throw something. Maybe the lube. Maybe a chair. 

“T-that would be wonderful! Thank you so much, Komaeda-san.” Tsumiki smiles warmly. 

Hajime starts to follow Komaeda out into the hall but Komaeda stops, blocking the door. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks, innocently. Tsumiki and Imposer hold out the condoms and lube with cheerful expression. Hajime snatches them, cramming them roughly into his pockets. He slinks after Komaeda with his head ducked. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Hajime says after a while. 

“And have another repeat of last night? I don’t think so.” 

Hajime stops in the middle of the hallway, apology stuck in his throat. 

Komaeda stops too. “I only meant,” he says, voice a little softer, though he still does not look at Hajime, “that I don’t like seeing you upset.” 

“Could have fooled me,” Hajime mutters under his breath as they step into the lab. 

Hajime settles into the dive chair, plugging in the receptors. It will be nice, not to have to open a vein now, but it leaves him feeling untethered and loose. There’s too much to take in, without the buzz in his bloodstream- the whirring fans, the blinking dots, Komaeda’s pinched and pale face in the monitor’s blue light. 

“You’re upset with me,” Hajime notes. Komaeda rolls his eyes. “You’re upset with me, so. Why are you doing this?” 

“Because I want to be in the same room with you,” Komaeda answers, flicking the switches behind the master panel with ease. “Even when just the sound of your voice makes me furious, there isn’t anywhere else I would rather be.” 

“Komaeda-” 

“Put on the visor, Hinata-kun. Let’s begin.” 

Hajime obeys. 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous use of Shakespeare, Sparknotes version
> 
>  **Conscience doth make cowards of us all -** a line from Hamlet, meaning that when a person is guilty of something, s/he will try to conceal it whenever possible. Famously spoken before Hamlet accosts Ophelia in order to prove his madness though she is blameless. Similarly, Hajime uses the line to accuse Komaeda of faking his hurt over the previous night in order to avoid answering questions- probably in part because Hinata is secretly ashamed. 
> 
> **Mend speech a little, lest it mar your fortunes** \- a line from King Lear, when Lear warns Cordelia to lie/exaggerate her love for him in order to inherit her kingdom. Komaeda uses the line to point out that Hajime would rather have Komaeda lie and pretend to not be hurt about the cold reception because it is more comfortable for Hajime despite his feelings. It's a contrast to how Komaeda had compared Hajime to Cordelia in chapter 1, so he is also saying 'this isn't like you.' 
> 
> **I pray you, do not fall in love with me/For I am falser than vows made in wine.** The full line mentions love explicitly which is why Hajime changes the subject to love afterward. Rosalind uses this line in As You Like It to deflect female attention while disguised as a man. Koameda uses it to change the conversation from where he's been and then Hajime uses it to change the subject to having a relationship talk. 
> 
> **Come, bid me do anything for thee -** A line from Benedick to Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing. It comes just after declaring his love for her and then she famously answers by asking him to kill his best friend who has wronged her cousin Hero. He then refuses despite his promises. This reflects Komaeda's intention of not following the request to the letter unless it suits him. He's making fun of Hajime for prizing honesty so much between them. Because he's Komaeda.
> 
>  **We to ourselves prove false by being once false for ever to to be true -** From Love's Labour's Lost, basically that once someone has lied they have proved themselves to be a liar and can no longer trust themselves. Hajime is being a little unfair by cutting out the first part of the quote and basically telling Koameda that he will never trust Komaeda again because of past lies. 
> 
> **I am not so nice to change true rules for odd inventions -** From Taming of the Shrew, the line actually refers to clothes. Bianca says she is unwilling to change what should always be true because of some new idea. Hajime actually mangles the quote, asking Komaeda to do the opposite- to change what he knows to be true (his worthlessness) for a new idea (a possible relationship as equals). 
> 
> **Let me be that I am and seek not to alter me -** Don John's line accepting his villainous role as bastard son before he kicks off the chain of events that cause problems during Much Ado About Nothing. Komaeda is basically admitting that he will continue acting independently from Hajime for good or ill and that Hajime is powerless to affect those decisions.
> 
>  **You have no reason; I do it freely -** Beatrice uses this line to dismiss Benedick when he is trying to get her to stop crying by basically saying ‘it’s none of your business.’ Hajime is telling Nagito that if they are not equals in a relationship, Nagito doesn’t have any influence, even positively.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explicit content this chapter with intentional and non-consensual voyeurism

~~  
DANGANI.EXE  
….  
LOADING PREVIOUS SAVE  
….  
ANOMALY LLLOGGG ##^^73]!7_C  
….

….  
COMPLETE  
…..  
STANDBY  
..…  
…..

“Goooood morning, everyone! Looks like today is gonna be another perfect, tropical day!”

~~

Komaeda is watching. 

It shouldn’t affect Hajime’s decisions. The optimal path, after all, remains the same regardless of extemporaneous factors. Tsumiki. Imposter. Souda. Komaeda. His actions too should remain impartial and unchanged. 

Hajime knocks on the door to Game Komaeda’s cottage and waits. (Has he done this before? In this game or this lifetime?) After a minute or so, the door creaks open with surprising caution for someone initially so keen on being murdered. 

“Hinata-kun? What do I owe the pleasure?” Komaeda asks, blinking. He’s dressed, but his hair seems even messier than usual. 

“I was heading to breakfast.” 

“Didn’t you just come from breakfast?” Komaeda asks, confused. “I thought we all decided to meet back to explore the Fourth Island?” 

“Yes. That.” Hajime agrees vacantly. “Do you want to walk together?” 

Komaeda blinks. “Are you-” he begins but stops and shakes his head. 

“What?” Hajime snaps. 

“Nothing. I shouldn’t question- someone like you-” He avoids looking at Hajime directly. Hajime grabs his chin, forces his gaze down. It’s that same look, alright. Slightly glazed. Fervent. Devoted. Komaeda, having been given permission to look, stares and stares. He doesn’t blink. His mouth hangs open a little, slack and stupid. God, Hajime hates that look. 

“May I come in.” Hajime says. It isn’t a question. Komaeda steps backward. Hajime shuts the door behind himself. 

Game Komaeda is flustered. Is Real Komaeda flustered? This one stumbles backwards until he runs into the desk in the corner, stopping with a wince. 

“Your hair’s a mess,” Hajime points out, feeling cruel. Komaeda’s hand flutters helplessly up by his ear. 

“I was- going to shower-” he breaks off. 

“Don’t let me stop you.” Hajime sits on the end of the bed. From here, he faces the completely transparent shower room fully. He crosses his arms. 

“But-” Komaeda flushes. “To show you something so- unseemly, it would be-”

“It isn’t anything I haven’t seen before,” Hajime says coolly. 

Komaeda’s hands twist up at his sides, clutching at his jacket till his knuckles go white. “What does that mean?” Hajime doesn’t respond. “Do you- do you mean when I was sick?” 

“What happened when you were sick?” Hajime picks up a book off the bedside table, flipping through it as though bored of the conversation. 

“I don’t know… I was sick. It’s all… after you put Tsumiki into quarantine with us, you went to talk to Monokuma. The next thing we knew, he gave us all the antidote. He was so pissed- what did you say to him?” 

So Game Hajime had threatened to tell the Despairs their true origins. What a risk. One that Junko’s AI- or, at least, this version of her AI, had been unwilling to take, apparently. Still no murders. But Monokuma must be aware, now, in this version of the game, that Hajime is not playing by the rules. What will that do? Hajime feels the slightest twinge of excitement. 

“Did you mean you saw me when I was sick in the hospital? When you were helping me?” 

“When else would it have been?” Hajime skims a paragraph. A collection of mystery stories, of course. How very predictable. 

“You didn’t say it like that.” Komaeda’s voice grows quiet in its certainty. “You said it like… Did you remember something?” 

“Does it seem likely, that I would remember something like that taking place at Hope’s Peak? Between the two of us?” Hajime closes the book, keeping his expression perfectly neutral. 

“No,” Komaeda answers honestly. “Someone like you… with _me,_ that’s just-”

“Then I must have misremembered. Weren’t you going to shower?” Hajime looks away for a moment to put the book back on the end table. When he glances back, Game Koameda is looking at him strangely. His hands hover over his belt. 

“It’s absurd,” he says weakly. “You and I.” 

“So you’ve said.” 

“But if _you_ remember it-” 

“I said-”

“We should be sure, Hinata-kun.” Komaeda interrupts. How unusual. His voice is a little breathy. “We should- be absolutely sure, don’t you think?” 

Hajime puts his palms on his knees to steady them. 

Game Komaeda unbuckles his belt. 

~~

Hajime wonders what it’s like, in the control room. Komaeda watching him watching Game Komaeda, turning under the spray of water without looking in Hajime’s direction, movements just stilted enough to be self conscious. The glass fogs, but not too much. Layers on layers on layers. Glass and circuitry, monitors and electrical signals. Distantly, he hears the water shut off. The glass door swings open. The steam rolls into the room.

Game Komaeda stops just short of the foot of the bed. He’s got a towel wrapped loosely around his middle, but he hasn’t bothered to use it properly. Water runs rivulets down his body, down his legs, onto the floor in puddles. He looks down at Hajime with huge pale eyes- ever larger peering out from water slicked hair. Hajime hooks a finger in the towel and tugs forward. Komaeda steps willingly closer, until he is dripping on Hajime, dripping on the bed. 

Hajime idly leans forward and licks a drop of water off Komaeda’s bare torso. Komaeda shivers. 

A knock sounds. Komaeda turns his face toward the entrance and Hajime studies him- the curve of his cheek, the slope of his nose in profile. The interruption does not concern him. 

“Yo, Komaeda- we’re all meetin’ up. You seen Hinata around?” Souda’s voice calls through the door. 

Komaeda looks at Hajime, then back. His hands come up a little- held poised, like he does when he’s uncertain. The situation is causing him discomfort. Hajime rises in a single fluid motion, bringing their faces very close together. Komaeda looks back at him then, with want and confusion and maybe the slight pale edge of panic. For Hajime? For himself? It does not matter. This is a much preferable Koameda than before. Hajime traces the curve of Komaeda’s jaw with one finger down the side of his neck to just below his throat. He pushes there gently until Komaeda steps back. 

Hajime walks to the door and opens it. 

“Oh, hey Hinata, I was just-” Souda glances past him into the cottage, where Komaeda is frozen, hands clinging to his towel, shoulders hunched and eyes a bit wild despite his polite expression. 

“Let’s meet up with the others,” Hajime says, pulling the door closed. 

“Yeah, okay- was that…?” Souda starts to ask, but Hajime doesn’t let him finish.

“Komaeda will catch up, he just got out of the shower.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Souda gives himself a little shake, like an oversized dog. “You were waiting for him, huh? No big deal. Not like you haven’t seen that before.” At Hajime’s blank expression, he continues, stumbling a little over his words and going a little pink. “I mean cause you’re guys! Not cause you two. Uh. So, you know. It’s not a big deal,” he repeats lamely. 

“Jabberwock Park is where we agreed to meet, correct?” 

“Yeah. You know it!” Souda grins, relieved. 

~~

This time, when they get trapped inside the Funhouse, there’s a lot more of them to deal with. Room assignments threaten chaos- at least on the boys’ side. The girls quietly pair off- Koizumi and Saionji in one Deluxe room, Sonia and Nanami sharing the other peaceably. The decidedly less finicky Mioda and Tsumiki split the Standard Room. Hajime takes a moment to appreciate the irony. Akane volunteers for a Crummy Room, and after a moment, Pekoyama takes the other. She would, she explains, prefer the privacy. 

Kuzuryu also takes a Crummy Room because “sharin’ a room at the Ritz with any of you fuckers would make me want to puke” and Hanamura ends up in the other because the general consensus is that no one is willing to risk the sexual harassment implicit in sharing with the Ultimate Cook. After drawing lots, Komaeda and Imposter get the Deluxe Rooms. 

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says immediately. He smiles blithely when everyone turns to look at him, but his hands are in his pockets to hide their shaking. “I don’t mind sharing if it’s with Hinata-kun. Though I know a worthless creature like me-” 

“Thanks,” Hajime says carelessly. “Togami?” 

“Nidai.” His answer is immediate as he eyes Tanaka’s numerous hamsters and Souda’s oil stained jumpsuit. 

Nidai laughs, showing off rows of white, even teeth before slapping Imposter on the back in a friendly way. “It’ll be just like training camp!” 

Tanaka and Souda look at each other, then at the Standard Room. 

“Aw, man…” Souda sulks. 

The others head to their rooms. So optimistic yet. How pitiful. 

~~

Despite the fact that it is Komaeda’s room won with Koameda’s luck and Hajime is no more or less than an invited guest, he is the one who leads the way back to Strawberry House. Komaeda is unnerved- he glances from side to side as they walk, as though he is doing something shockingly indecent just trailing behind. 

Inside the room, Hajime sits in the armchair, turning it to face the bed. Komaeda leans against the closed door, exhaling a long, low breath, his eyes closed. 

“Is that where you’re planning to sleep?” He asks, voice neutral. 

“This is your room,” Hajime reminds him. “I’ll sleep where you tell me.” 

“So accommodating.” Komaeda laughs a little breathlessly. “Will you do anything I say in here?” 

Hajime considers. He knows the Hajime response- how he should reply, to be the person that he was during the simulation. And yet. 

Fascinating, this Komaeda and the one out there. 

And it isn’t as though this Komaeda were _real._

“Yes.” 

Komaeda inhales sharply. Hajime doesn’t turn to look at him. SIlence. The click of the door lock. 

“Sit there, then.” Komaeda says quietly. “Stay there, just like that.” 

It is alright to hope? At the last murder, Komaeda hadn’t seemed to want to die any longer. It’s hard to be a stepping stone for hope when you’re already surrounded by smiling, healthy faces. 

Clothing, rustling. Neatly folded and placed to the side. He steps into Hajime’s view in nothing but his lucky boxers. He slips those off too. He sits slowly, legs just slightly apart. Komaeda takes himself in hand. 

“Watch,” he orders. 

Hajime obeys. 

Komaeda touches himself without preamble or artifice. He grunts a little now and then- angry, soft noises. He swipes a thumb across the head in a practiced way- a way that Hajime remembers feeling, once, and it’s almost enough to make him shift in place from where he sits, leaning forward, all his attention fixed and focused. Komaeda never closes his eyes, though he does look away once or twice, overwhelmed. 

Komaeda croons his name. “I want,” he pants. His pace increases. Hajime can hear his own heartbeat in his ears. “I want…” 

“Anything,” Hajime promises, hands twisting into his pant legs. 

“ _Kiss_ me,” Komaeda begs and Hajime is there, crossing the room in three quick strides, pulling the other to his feet and kissing him again and again as he comes. He lays Komaeda down on the bed and kisses him- his mouth, his face, his throat, his chest, his thigh, though he shies away, oversensitive. Hajime, still dressed, pulls Komaeda up to his chest, curling around him and keeping him trapped and safe. 

“Remember this,” he urges. “Whatever happens, remember that _this_ happened- that we both wanted it. That I wanted you-” 

Komaeda’s laugh is borderline hysterical. “You’re crazy. As if I could forget-” He clutches to Hajime’s arm, wrapped around his stomach. He’s crying and hiding it badly, tears and snot in his hair and the shoulder of Hajime’s shirt. 

“Who are you?” He moans. “What is happening?” 

Hajime licks a stripe of cum off Koameda’s finger and Komaeda shudders, hands reflexively opening and closing, fists against the blankets. “Do something for me,” he asks. 

“Anything,” Komaeda echoes. Maybe it’s meant to be mocking, but there are stars in his eyes, where the tears catch the light. Hajime wipes his face gently with the corner of the blanket. 

“I need you to defeat the Final Dead Room.” 

“Do you want me to die for you after all?” Komaeda asks, sounding pleased. 

Hajime shakes his head. “I want you to save us. I want you to get the thing in there that will save us all. It can only be you.”

Komaeda surges forward, kissing Hajime roughly. He breaks off quickly, averting his eyes. Shy, after everything. 

“Of course,” Komaeda agrees. 

Hajime lets him go. 

He falls asleep, on the thousand thread count pink sheets. 

~~

“Suicide,” Hajime says, at the trial. “He used the building itself as the weapon.” 

O what rash and bloody deed is this?

Komaeda destroyed the file left by Monokuma, took enough poison to slow his heartbeat to fool the room detection system, and hung himself from the doorknob. 

The body was… 

“D-Decapitation,” Tsumiki explained faintly. “D-Dismemberment between three and four of the cervical spinal column-” 

Who would have thought he to have had so much blood in him? 

“J-Joint separation of the left forearm, likely caused at impact-” 

Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?

~~  
OUTSIDE EJECTION PARAMETERS INITIATED  
……  
USER MESSAGE: ENOUGH, HINATA-KUN  
…...  
ACCEPTING  
…..  
PROGRESS LOGGED  
…...  
<077B RECONFIGURATION S^7*!]CCE5SFULLLL>  
…...  
…...  
STANDBY FOR REINTEGRATION SEQUENCE  
…..

~~

Komaeda stands over his dive chair, face impassive. He’s dressed properly in his formal suit when Hajime pulls off the visor and sits up straight to look at him. 

“I’m good at cleaning,” is all he says, when Hajime’s eyes linger on the snowy white jacket, perfectly bleached and mended. 

“What did you see?” Hajime asks, glancing at the monitors. 

Komaeda reaches out a hand. “I want to take you somewhere,” he says instead of answering. “Will you come with me?” 

Hajime takes his hand. He knows now he always will.

~~

The two of them slip off of the ship in the darkness of night. Instead of going along the docks, Komaeda leads the way around to an alley nearly hidden by broken debris. Nimbly, he climbs up and over. A manhole cover slides back to reveal a ladder leading down. 

Komaeda goes first. 

Underneath the city, the smell of filth and old blood and worse permeates the stagnant air. Neither of them are bothered. They have certainly been through worse. 

A shuffling sort of noise alerts them to the Monobear robot as it turns the corner to face them. Before Hajime can strike, however, Komaeda points his robotic prosthetic at it. A beam of green light emits from the fingertip, striking it in the eye. The Monobear’s eye whirs as it focuses in on them, then out again. It shuffles away peaceably. 

Komaeda continues on, down a seemingly endless series of twists and turns. He has to disengage two other Monobears, but Hajime does not ask him about it. Komaeda will tell him, when they get to where they are going, or he will not. 

For the first time in a long time, Hajime is starting to think that he may. 

Up one more ladder and Hajime has worked out their location, based on the Future Foundation reports. This must be the purported “safe zone,” long since abandoned since the adults and Monokids had formed their tentative truce. 

Komaeda pauses at the top of the ladder. He knocks in a pattern- shave and a haircut. Two faint knocks answer him back. He swings open the porthole. 

“You’re early.” Nagisa Shingetsu frowns down at them, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Change in plans,” Komaeda says breezily. “Hajime Hinata, leader of the Remnants of Despair. Hinata-kun, these are the Warriors of Hope.” 

Kotoko Utsugi sits on an old blanket, her legs tucked up underneath her. One ponytail is tied much higher than the other and it gives her a rather pathetic expression. 

“What’re you looking at, you old pervert?” She snaps, but Hajime has already begun studying the next child and pays her no mind. Oddly enough, the lack of attention seems to calm her. 

A cherubic, clear-eyed child is next. “Oh goody, you brought a new friend to play with, Servant.” Jataro Kemuri’s voice is guttural and halting, as though he is not used to speaking unhampered. 

“Don’t call him that,” Hajime corrects sharply. 

“I don’t mind it. It’s what they’ve always known me as, after all. Only Monaca ever knew my real name.” Komaeda smiles nervously. 

“I mind.” Hajime’s tone brooks no argument. 

“Leader? He don’t look so tough.” Masaru Daimon scuffs his shoes against the cement, the one with the broken laces. All of their clothes are filthy and tattered- ripped, bunched, and threadbare. There is nothing around to suggest comfort, cleanliness or security. Hunted by the adults, shunned by the former Monokids. Truly pitiful.

“Does this mean we move now?” Nagisa presses. His eyes dart between the two adults, mouth pressed into a thin line. 

“Well, that depends on Hinata-kun.” Komaeda sits gingerly on one of the overturned crates next to them. From his jacket pocket he casually draws out a handful of small, individually wrapped sour candies. He tosses them around the group. Cautiously, the kids scrutinize the packages before tearing them open and devouring the contents. They're in need of proper meals. Jataro is showing signs of iron deficiency. Kotoko is severely underweight.

“How much have you told him?” Nagisa asks. Komaeda shrugs one shoulder elegantly. Nagisa rolls his eyes. “Useless,” he condemns. 

“What do you want from us?” Hajime asks. 

“It’s not what we want from you,” Kotoko corrects. “It’s what we want to do _for_ you.” 

“We’re very kind and generous children, probably,” Jataro snickers. Kotoko kicks him none-too-gently. 

“You’re making it sound bad!” 

“Your machine for treating the Monokids is still not working,” Nagisa clarifies. “We want to help. You need to see how it works with actual children. We're no loss.” 

Hajime looks at them, then back at Komaeda who holds up a hand. 

“But they’re children! We can’t use them as guinea pigs. They’re innocent. There has to be a better way. You’re a monster for even suggesting it- there, have I run the gauntlet of protests for you? The truth is that the situation is dire. Two kids jumped off a building two weeks ago. Another one tried to set herself and her little sister on fire. Another drank bleach. None of them have been fatal injuries yet, but we can’t wait for proper protocol. They want to take responsibility, so I suggest you let them.” 

Hajime leans against the wall, eyes closed for a moment while he focuses. Calculations. Success rate? Probability of exacerbation. Residual mind control through peripheral exposure to the brainwashing video. Lingering effects of Junko and Monaca’s manipulation tactics. Fatalities unlikely. Permanent psychological damage rate under twenty percent. It makes him a little nauseous, weighing the options. Komaeda is holding himself a bit too still. There is something else that Hajime is missing. 

They trusted him enough to give him the codes to deactivate their security bears. Why? 

“Woe to that land that's governed by a child.” He murmurs, opening his eyes. “Komaeda, that wasn’t all of your plan, was it?” Komaeda just blinks placidly in response. “Ambitious, thinking you can smuggle four children on the ship for a six week journey back to the islands without being detected.” 

“I didn’t need them to be undetected for six weeks, just for long enough to make returning them impractical.” Komaeda answers. “And it’s a big ship.” 

“We might be kids, but we’ve lived through a lot. We’ve done more terrible things than any living being should have the power to.” Nagisa argues. 

“We know what we’re saying,” Masaru interjects. 

“They hate us and they’re afraid of us- but to us, they’re still our friends. So.” Kotoko turns a carefully crafted sad expression his way and Hajime looks through it, to the tension she keeps in her shoulders that speak of sincerity. 

“We just want somewhere to be where nobody will hurt us and we don’t have to hurt anybody else. And Serv- I mean, he- he said that there was a place like that.” 

And Komaeda just sits, ankles crossed primly, waiting on Hajime. Always, always waiting on Hajime. 

“What did you see, in the simulation?” Hajime asks again. 

“Many things.” Komaeda drops his gaze demurely, and Hajime fights a blush. “But you saved the day. You went with me to the Final Dead Room and you talked me through the discovery of the Despairs. We used the explosives in the weapons room to make a controlled explosion and escape.” 

“That isn’t what I see, when I’m in there. I never save who I mean to.” Hajime confesses. 

“Then you should think about what you’re really trying to save.” Komaeda says gently. “And what you're willing to do, if it’s worth it.” 

“Adults are dumb,” Masaru huffs. “How long are you gonna talk about boring stuff?” 

“Forever, probably,” Komaeda says cheerfully. 

“So you’ll have to get used to it,” Hajime adds. 

“Hinata-kun…”

“Let’s move out,” Hajime orders. 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitious Shakespeare, Sparknotes Edition
> 
>  **O what rash and bloody deed is this?** paraphrased from Hamlet. Hajime uses this to question Komaeda as to why he committed suicide and criticize it- but like Gertrude criticizes Hamlet though she knows perfectly well why he is doing what he does and is pretending to be innocent, the subsequent quotes show that Hajime is taking responsibility.
> 
>  **Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? -** Lady Macbeth says this about Duncan. It is her unfair realization that he is actually and truly dead after being the primary driving force behind the murder. Hajime is pointing out that his shock and horror is undeserved, as this is his own fault.
> 
>  **Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?-** from Romeo and Juliet, when the Prince points out that Mercutio's death will go unavenged. Since Hajime's interference caused Komaeda to commit suicide this time, he is wondering who is to blame for all these deaths- if it is his fault or the program's. He is feeling very guilty.
> 
>  **Woe to that land that's governed by a child -** from Richard III, hinting that children make unfit rulers. Hinata is pointing out that by trying to take over Towa, they can now no longer live in Towa at all. He has worked out that Komaeda had come along with the plan to bring the Warriors of Hope back to Jabberwock.


End file.
